But luckily, it's ending on a good note. A few weeks ago, I was invited out to Anaheim, CA to engage in a one-on-one interview for a Tour Manager position with Contiki Holidays, a Tour Operator that specializes in trips for clients between the ages of 18 and 35. If they like me, I'll be invited to participate in their Tour Manager Training School, which unfortunately comes at a price (the price being about $700). However, it's an eight-week training course that, I assume, will take us to virtually every destination their tours touch upon in North America. Upon successful completion of this course, a two-year contract is offered.
What will I need to accomplish this feat? Presenting a ten-minute speech on Walt Disney, and of course, a successful interview. All of this will take place on January 5 and 6, plane tickets and rental car are already booked. Everything is still up in the air, of course, but I have a good feeling about this. What would really be sweet is if I could juggle Contiki's tours with Holiday Vacations' part-time Tour Directing and attending travel shows. Everything remains to be seen. Oh yes, and Contiki offers tours to China and Southeast Asia that I hope to jump aboard on come the fall and winter.
For New Year's, it's looking to be a quiet, family-oriented event, with a Subway sandwich platter, a variety of wraps and chicken tenders, with a few variety of chips and dip to go along with it. It should be peaceful, and delicious.
I'm contemplating starting up a second blog that will be more for general rants, muses, and other stuff, and revert this one back to being strictly a travel blog.
Spurs are continuing to kick ass, naming the Lakers as their latest victims. I think they have a shot for the championship.
'Tis is late, and I need sleep. Until next time.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Don't You Just Love Anticlimatic Endings (and Mindless Rambling)?
See, I told you I'm bad about consistently keeping up with blogs.
Long story short, after all of the car trouble on the Kenai, I was able to finish the journey home, and along the way met great people, saw great sights and did as much as I could in-between. I learned my debit card works better in Southeast Asia than Western Canada, I saw a few of the many wonders of Jasper and Banff National Parks, camped out on permafrost in the Yukon while praying to God no bears had last-minute munchies before hibernation, uncovered the real Winnipeg, caught a glimpse into the exciting prairie cities of Calgary and Regina, and caught up with old friends in the American Midwest.
And now I'm back in Texas. The Salt Lick outside of Austin was delicious, Vegas was canned at the very last minute, my mother had serious back surgery right before Thanksgiving and is recovering nicely, I got to meet the new cat (who is the biggest asshole this side of North Korea but is still cute and amazing), and catching up on movies and South Park episodes I missed over the summer (and then some). Oh yes, and searching for the next great adventure.
A nagging feeling, though, continues to pester me. I have no interest in getting involved in a relationship, yet I guess a piece of me desires that special lady. But I know it's for the wrong reasons and that my career path will essentially all but eradicate any chance of a romance flower blossoming. God works in mysterious ways, though, but at the moment, it's not something I need. Or maybe there's an underlying reason and this small little dissident mindset is a mask. Who knows with me, I'm just coo-coo for Co-co Puffs. Or maybe there's actually a chance on the other side of the river Styx that I may find someone who is extremely understanding of my career and, at the same time, won't get lonely to the point of getting her fix with a businessman, a clown, or worse, a car salesman. Stranger things have happened, like some people actually liking Sarah Palin and supporting her for a 2012 bid for the presidency.
The Mayans may have been on to something concerning 2012....but if there's any constellation, she'll probably quit after Iran farts or if a journalist asks her about her favorite pizza. As long as she doesn't pick Mr. Ed or a dung beetle as her VP, the country will be in far better hands. But then again, this is pure speculation. I foresee the odds are higher of a pig with lipstick getting the Republican nomination over Palin.
Anyway, I still want to pursue freelance photography on the side in a few years once I get a much better camera (ideally, an SLR) and take enough shots with it to produce a quality portfolio. Combining tour management and freelance photography? A good life. I've already printed out some of my best photos from Alaska, and have framed and hung them in my house. Maybe that's the beginning of a larger gallery depicting photos not only of the world but the world through my eyes and mind, a little bit of a deeper look into, well, me. For me, art is how I comfortably express myself, and hopefully y'all can gain insight into who I am through my photos, graphic design pieces and other artistic works.
Until next time, everyone! Enjoy the Christmas season!
Long story short, after all of the car trouble on the Kenai, I was able to finish the journey home, and along the way met great people, saw great sights and did as much as I could in-between. I learned my debit card works better in Southeast Asia than Western Canada, I saw a few of the many wonders of Jasper and Banff National Parks, camped out on permafrost in the Yukon while praying to God no bears had last-minute munchies before hibernation, uncovered the real Winnipeg, caught a glimpse into the exciting prairie cities of Calgary and Regina, and caught up with old friends in the American Midwest.
And now I'm back in Texas. The Salt Lick outside of Austin was delicious, Vegas was canned at the very last minute, my mother had serious back surgery right before Thanksgiving and is recovering nicely, I got to meet the new cat (who is the biggest asshole this side of North Korea but is still cute and amazing), and catching up on movies and South Park episodes I missed over the summer (and then some). Oh yes, and searching for the next great adventure.
A nagging feeling, though, continues to pester me. I have no interest in getting involved in a relationship, yet I guess a piece of me desires that special lady. But I know it's for the wrong reasons and that my career path will essentially all but eradicate any chance of a romance flower blossoming. God works in mysterious ways, though, but at the moment, it's not something I need. Or maybe there's an underlying reason and this small little dissident mindset is a mask. Who knows with me, I'm just coo-coo for Co-co Puffs. Or maybe there's actually a chance on the other side of the river Styx that I may find someone who is extremely understanding of my career and, at the same time, won't get lonely to the point of getting her fix with a businessman, a clown, or worse, a car salesman. Stranger things have happened, like some people actually liking Sarah Palin and supporting her for a 2012 bid for the presidency.
The Mayans may have been on to something concerning 2012....but if there's any constellation, she'll probably quit after Iran farts or if a journalist asks her about her favorite pizza. As long as she doesn't pick Mr. Ed or a dung beetle as her VP, the country will be in far better hands. But then again, this is pure speculation. I foresee the odds are higher of a pig with lipstick getting the Republican nomination over Palin.
Anyway, I still want to pursue freelance photography on the side in a few years once I get a much better camera (ideally, an SLR) and take enough shots with it to produce a quality portfolio. Combining tour management and freelance photography? A good life. I've already printed out some of my best photos from Alaska, and have framed and hung them in my house. Maybe that's the beginning of a larger gallery depicting photos not only of the world but the world through my eyes and mind, a little bit of a deeper look into, well, me. For me, art is how I comfortably express myself, and hopefully y'all can gain insight into who I am through my photos, graphic design pieces and other artistic works.
Until next time, everyone! Enjoy the Christmas season!
Monday, October 11, 2010
The Brink
Leaving Homer this past Friday, I was happy my car was fixed and set my course for Seward...with a few little stops first of course. The first stop was a ten-mile detour to a small, isolated village called Nikolaevsk. Here, a traditional sect of the Russian Orthodox Church called the Old Believers thrive. They separated from the mainstream Russian Orthodox Church in the 1600s, fled Russia after the Communist take-over and eventually made their way to Alaska's Kenai Peninsula, where they settled in several communities, Nikolaevsk being the most prominent one. They aren't like the Amish who shun technology, but they still hold on to traditional beliefs, and they don't appreciate anyone photographing their gorgeous church unless you ask permission first.
After my little stint there, I returned to Anchor Point (a town roughly 15 miles north of Homer) to indulge in lunch at the Blue Bus. Evidently, it's changed in the last five years, because now it's an actual restaurant instead of meals being cooked and served from the blue bus outside (according to my Lonely Planet guidebook anyway). Nevertheless, my burrito-in-a-boat was pretty tasty and the atmosphere was relaxing, with locals chatting about issues of the day, such as how assanine the Westboro Baptist Church is.
After lunch, I continued northbound to Ninilchik (where the main onslaught of the car issues took shape) to visit the old village and its Russian Orthodox Church, since I wasn't able to my first time through due to car issues. This church and its cemetery, being tourist attractions, can be photographed without permission. Although not as impressive as the one in Nikolaevsk, it stands on top of a hill overlooking the town and makes for a quaint walk to visit the grounds.
Alright, so I'm falling a bit behind on the time and decided to gun it for Seward. I was pretty excited to try my luck at pitching the tent successfully and to go on a ranger-led hike up to see Exit Glacier. The beautiful mountains around, good music streaming from my Zune when low and behold I begin having problems accelerating. I had to literally slam down the accelerator to get any speed, and when I slowed down even for a bit, my engine shut off. I was lucky to be able to coast into a bed-and-breakfast off of the highway, where I preceded to restart the engine. It started up, but the instant I pressed on the accelerator, it shut off. How may sun-sized F bombs can one drop in a trip?
Luckily, I was just outside of the town of Cooper Landing, and a gentleman there by the name of Ken was able to tow my car to his shop. Ken originally assumed it was the timing chain in the engine that went out. He asked me how many miles roughly the car had, I told around 165,000, he subsequently asked the last time we had the timing chain replaced, I said never to my knowledge and that helped to reaffirm his prediction. We get to his shop, I gave him my phone number and car key and proceeded to head down the highway a bit to a nearby hotel. Closed. I walked the other way, whipped out my guidebook for the listings of recommended hotels and B&Bs in the area and called a few of them. One of them was opened but they weren't currently hosting due to an ill family member and the other one was a Princess-ran lodge, so obviously being outside of the cruise season, it's closed.
So, I sat for a while, not knowing at all what to do, and still not feeling confident enough to grab my camping gear and attempt to set up camp without having my car to fall back on. I walked back to Ken's shop and asked for a quick ride through town to check for open hotels. He suggested we head back to the Sunrise Inn and Cafe (where he picked me up from). I said okay, so we drove the ten minute drive back and I stayed there for the night. It just so happened I was gonna stop off at their cafe on my to Seward, because they use quirky and witty names for some of their menu items. That usually translates to weird for me, which means I must check it out. Sure enough, Pig Vomit Omelete was one of the selections. It featured a lot of pork products and cheese, and even features a disclaimer about how bad it is for your heart. I decided to pass on that selection, though, and went with an eggs benedict over a sausage patty which was amazing nonetheless. It didn't have a quirky or witty name, though.
By this time, the realization of possibly cutting my losses was real. But I wanted to hear what Ken had to say before making that kind of a decision. He called me later that evening and told me he was wrong on his original diagnosis, and that he now thought it was one of the coils. Unfortunately, he didn't have the tools on hand to effectively check that out, so he suggested trying a former GM dealership in Soldotna, a town modeled after the typical Lower-48 town rather than harboring a rustic Alaskan feel. I called them the next morning, sure enough they still repaird old GM cars (as long as it didn't pre-date 1930; a little humor was needed). I called Ken and asked if he could tow me to the dealership and he said he could. So, I ate lunch at the cafe, Ken arrived and we were on our way.
On route, we chatted about my time in Skagway, his experiences of living in Alaska for many years (including a lengthy discussion about the bear issues in the area) and dove a little into politics. He's like many Americans; angry with the government. Although he does slant towards the conservative side of the spectrum, we all know Americans of all political ideologies are upset. It should be our one unifying purpose but instead our own politics get in the way because we all have different ideas as to how to fix the issues of our day. But even in Alaska, seemingly so far from the bulk of the problems, is still feeling them, whether its the frustration of its populous or the lower numbers of tourists visiting.
Arriving in Soldotna, we found the dealership. Being a Saturday, their service department was closed for the weekend but their sales department was still open, and they knew I would be arriving. So, after filling out a little paperwork and dropping the keys off, Ken drove me to the Diamond M Ranch Resort, about 5-and-a-half miles to the west of Soldotna. There, I decided to camp out, and what do ya know, I can pitch a damn tent now! I was pretty stoked, which was a much needed boost of energy considering the trip has been seemingly dominated by car problems. The ranch didn't start out as a megaplex for guests to crash at. It was a simple, family-run ranch. However, in this part of Alaska, one thing that makes up for the uninspiring towns of Soldotna and Kenai is the fishing. It is here where some of the largest king salmon to ever be caught are found. Fisherman and tourists by the truck loads flood this area during the salmon run, forcing the Kenai River to its knees, giving up its fertile supply to the hunters. Over the years, many fisherman asked to camp out on the family's ranch and they agreed. So they decided to go the extra distance and turn the ranch into a large complex designed for guests to stay, whether it be in one of their cabins, an RV spot or pitching a tent on a nearby hill.
Combat fishing takes place in this part of Alaska, and isn't as gruesome as it sounds. You don't have Liu Kang or Sub-Zero fighting to get the biggest fish. There are no fatalities due to specialized maneuvers involving hooks through the eyes, crushing the opponent with a large salmon, or bears randomly coming out and mauling folks. No no, this is a (for the most part) a bloodless competition for folks with similar interests to engage in sportsman-like fishing. According to my guide book, the only rules are don't take another fisherman's spot and shout "Fish on" when you have a bite so your neighbors can reel in their lines and move, allowing you room to nab your catch. Oh yes, and don't bitchslap your fellow man with the fish you just caught unless they deserve it.
Outside of the salmon run, this area is a place where boredom can fester very quickly. While there are worst places than Soldotna to be stuck with car trouble (the Alcan), there are also far better ones (i.e. Homer). One of the nice things about the ranch is it's located about halfway between Soldotna and the City of Kenai, and both, if one is willing to make a day's excursion out of it, can be walked to from the ranch. Having a bike would make the journey go by a bit faster. Kenai is really no different; another uninspired town choked with corporate entities, except Kenai has an old section of town and a beach (yes, a beach) that harbors nice views of Mt. Redoubt across the Cook Inlet. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to visit those two places. While in Kenai, I went to their resident Wal-Mart and picked up a pair of hunter's wool socks and some fleece gloves to help my little feet and hands stay warm at night (my feet froze pretty good the first night camping out; figured it was a good idea to solve that problem). It's dropped to the uppers 20s both nights I've camped and due to my sleeping bag and layers of clothing I've kept reasonably warm (a chill every now and then emerges).
And here I am, waiting for the call that will decide the fate of my car. Will the cost of these next round of repairs justify getting it patched up, and then risking the drive home? Or, do I cut my losses and leave it here, making Soldotna its final resting place?
After my little stint there, I returned to Anchor Point (a town roughly 15 miles north of Homer) to indulge in lunch at the Blue Bus. Evidently, it's changed in the last five years, because now it's an actual restaurant instead of meals being cooked and served from the blue bus outside (according to my Lonely Planet guidebook anyway). Nevertheless, my burrito-in-a-boat was pretty tasty and the atmosphere was relaxing, with locals chatting about issues of the day, such as how assanine the Westboro Baptist Church is.
After lunch, I continued northbound to Ninilchik (where the main onslaught of the car issues took shape) to visit the old village and its Russian Orthodox Church, since I wasn't able to my first time through due to car issues. This church and its cemetery, being tourist attractions, can be photographed without permission. Although not as impressive as the one in Nikolaevsk, it stands on top of a hill overlooking the town and makes for a quaint walk to visit the grounds.
Alright, so I'm falling a bit behind on the time and decided to gun it for Seward. I was pretty excited to try my luck at pitching the tent successfully and to go on a ranger-led hike up to see Exit Glacier. The beautiful mountains around, good music streaming from my Zune when low and behold I begin having problems accelerating. I had to literally slam down the accelerator to get any speed, and when I slowed down even for a bit, my engine shut off. I was lucky to be able to coast into a bed-and-breakfast off of the highway, where I preceded to restart the engine. It started up, but the instant I pressed on the accelerator, it shut off. How may sun-sized F bombs can one drop in a trip?
Luckily, I was just outside of the town of Cooper Landing, and a gentleman there by the name of Ken was able to tow my car to his shop. Ken originally assumed it was the timing chain in the engine that went out. He asked me how many miles roughly the car had, I told around 165,000, he subsequently asked the last time we had the timing chain replaced, I said never to my knowledge and that helped to reaffirm his prediction. We get to his shop, I gave him my phone number and car key and proceeded to head down the highway a bit to a nearby hotel. Closed. I walked the other way, whipped out my guidebook for the listings of recommended hotels and B&Bs in the area and called a few of them. One of them was opened but they weren't currently hosting due to an ill family member and the other one was a Princess-ran lodge, so obviously being outside of the cruise season, it's closed.
So, I sat for a while, not knowing at all what to do, and still not feeling confident enough to grab my camping gear and attempt to set up camp without having my car to fall back on. I walked back to Ken's shop and asked for a quick ride through town to check for open hotels. He suggested we head back to the Sunrise Inn and Cafe (where he picked me up from). I said okay, so we drove the ten minute drive back and I stayed there for the night. It just so happened I was gonna stop off at their cafe on my to Seward, because they use quirky and witty names for some of their menu items. That usually translates to weird for me, which means I must check it out. Sure enough, Pig Vomit Omelete was one of the selections. It featured a lot of pork products and cheese, and even features a disclaimer about how bad it is for your heart. I decided to pass on that selection, though, and went with an eggs benedict over a sausage patty which was amazing nonetheless. It didn't have a quirky or witty name, though.
By this time, the realization of possibly cutting my losses was real. But I wanted to hear what Ken had to say before making that kind of a decision. He called me later that evening and told me he was wrong on his original diagnosis, and that he now thought it was one of the coils. Unfortunately, he didn't have the tools on hand to effectively check that out, so he suggested trying a former GM dealership in Soldotna, a town modeled after the typical Lower-48 town rather than harboring a rustic Alaskan feel. I called them the next morning, sure enough they still repaird old GM cars (as long as it didn't pre-date 1930; a little humor was needed). I called Ken and asked if he could tow me to the dealership and he said he could. So, I ate lunch at the cafe, Ken arrived and we were on our way.
On route, we chatted about my time in Skagway, his experiences of living in Alaska for many years (including a lengthy discussion about the bear issues in the area) and dove a little into politics. He's like many Americans; angry with the government. Although he does slant towards the conservative side of the spectrum, we all know Americans of all political ideologies are upset. It should be our one unifying purpose but instead our own politics get in the way because we all have different ideas as to how to fix the issues of our day. But even in Alaska, seemingly so far from the bulk of the problems, is still feeling them, whether its the frustration of its populous or the lower numbers of tourists visiting.
Arriving in Soldotna, we found the dealership. Being a Saturday, their service department was closed for the weekend but their sales department was still open, and they knew I would be arriving. So, after filling out a little paperwork and dropping the keys off, Ken drove me to the Diamond M Ranch Resort, about 5-and-a-half miles to the west of Soldotna. There, I decided to camp out, and what do ya know, I can pitch a damn tent now! I was pretty stoked, which was a much needed boost of energy considering the trip has been seemingly dominated by car problems. The ranch didn't start out as a megaplex for guests to crash at. It was a simple, family-run ranch. However, in this part of Alaska, one thing that makes up for the uninspiring towns of Soldotna and Kenai is the fishing. It is here where some of the largest king salmon to ever be caught are found. Fisherman and tourists by the truck loads flood this area during the salmon run, forcing the Kenai River to its knees, giving up its fertile supply to the hunters. Over the years, many fisherman asked to camp out on the family's ranch and they agreed. So they decided to go the extra distance and turn the ranch into a large complex designed for guests to stay, whether it be in one of their cabins, an RV spot or pitching a tent on a nearby hill.
Combat fishing takes place in this part of Alaska, and isn't as gruesome as it sounds. You don't have Liu Kang or Sub-Zero fighting to get the biggest fish. There are no fatalities due to specialized maneuvers involving hooks through the eyes, crushing the opponent with a large salmon, or bears randomly coming out and mauling folks. No no, this is a (for the most part) a bloodless competition for folks with similar interests to engage in sportsman-like fishing. According to my guide book, the only rules are don't take another fisherman's spot and shout "Fish on" when you have a bite so your neighbors can reel in their lines and move, allowing you room to nab your catch. Oh yes, and don't bitchslap your fellow man with the fish you just caught unless they deserve it.
Outside of the salmon run, this area is a place where boredom can fester very quickly. While there are worst places than Soldotna to be stuck with car trouble (the Alcan), there are also far better ones (i.e. Homer). One of the nice things about the ranch is it's located about halfway between Soldotna and the City of Kenai, and both, if one is willing to make a day's excursion out of it, can be walked to from the ranch. Having a bike would make the journey go by a bit faster. Kenai is really no different; another uninspired town choked with corporate entities, except Kenai has an old section of town and a beach (yes, a beach) that harbors nice views of Mt. Redoubt across the Cook Inlet. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to visit those two places. While in Kenai, I went to their resident Wal-Mart and picked up a pair of hunter's wool socks and some fleece gloves to help my little feet and hands stay warm at night (my feet froze pretty good the first night camping out; figured it was a good idea to solve that problem). It's dropped to the uppers 20s both nights I've camped and due to my sleeping bag and layers of clothing I've kept reasonably warm (a chill every now and then emerges).
And here I am, waiting for the call that will decide the fate of my car. Will the cost of these next round of repairs justify getting it patched up, and then risking the drive home? Or, do I cut my losses and leave it here, making Soldotna its final resting place?
Friday, October 8, 2010
Too Hot on the Freezing Kenai
As much as I wish this was referring to women, it ain't.
The journey down to Alaska's Kenai Peninsula has been a mixed bag of extremes. On the one hand, you have some of the most beautiful scenery in the entire state at your finger tips, sprinkled with eccentric towns just waiting for you to accept their offerings of peace, adventure, and great food. On the other hand, my car evidently hasn't seen it this way. The Wankavador, a vehicle that's been with me since my latter high school days, is finally showing signs of age and fatigue.
I have been fortunate enough to have been blessed with the opportunity to embark on one of the most coveted roadtrips in North America, as well as to live Alaska. Not many folks can truly say they've done both of these things, especially at once. So with an epic adventure is bound to have its share of misadventures. The first batch of trouble was waaaaay back in Texas in April when, only one hour west of San Antonio, I came within feet of being annihilated by a doe. I violently swerved out of its way at a good 70 mph and did a 720 off the interstate. Even though this was in the Texas Hill Country, thank God it wasn't in an area of drop offs. I'm sure this didn't do anything good for the car, but of course, a bit shaken, I continued on my way and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. In Seattle, when I realized I left my cameras on the roof of my car when leaving the hotel, I busted the left CV joint ball bearing doing a vicious U-turn to head back and look for them. In Skagway, my fuel pump failed, and eventually that was replaced. And now, what I hope is the grand finale of car trouble, at least for the remainder of this adventure.
In Anchorage, I first noticed the coolant light came on. It's been a while since we've put coolant in the tank so I figured, hey, it's indeed low and added more. Seemed to have solved that little problem, right? It comes on a bit later, but I then assumed the aging electrical system was just being finicky (which does happen), so I thought nothing of it. I kept an eye on the gauge, seemed to be doing alright, no problems. Leaving Anchorage for the Kenai to its south, still no issues to be had...until I reached the town of Ninilchik, my final destination that evening. After discovering its hostel and all but one of its campgrounds were closed for the season, I found the remaining open campground and noticed a lot of smoke coming from the engine. By now, I pretty much assumed something was a bit out of the ordinary. However, first thing was first: setting up camp, because it was getting dark very quickly....yeah, that didn't go too well either, since I don't have much experience setting up tents (but hey, I THINK I can do it now....). Frustrated, I decided to crunch into the front seat of the car and drift off to sleep. I will admit, though, by enveloping myself in a comforter, zipping up my jacket and wearing gloves, it wasn't that uncomfortable temperature wise. I had my nice little pocket of warmth that I was enjoying, but of course, being crunched into the front seat didn't add any comfort value. But hey, it was free and it was a bear-less adventure, and that's really what counts, right?
First chance I got in the morning, I called home to ask my dad to inform him what was wrong and to ask for an opinion on a course of action (yes, the obvious answer would be to get into a shop, but the decision was either to limp back to Anchorage or press on to Homer). Dad took Mom to a doctor's appointment, wouldn't be back for two-three hours. Son of a bitch. Well, back to sleep as best as I could! Dad called me back about two hours later, suggested to take the car back to Anchorage. However, I knew I was only about thirty or so miles from Homer, so I checked to see if they had an auto shop that could check out my vehicle. Yayz, they DID!!!!!!!!!!!! So, I limped off down the Sterling Highway, stopping four times to dump water into the coolant tank to cool off a feverish radiator. If only more cow bell could be the prescription for this fever....
An hour and a half later, I crawled into Homer, population over 5,000, a town with a strong counterculture presence, minimal impact from corporate America and the end of the Kenai's road system from the north. The art scene here is thriving and has several great galleries to visit with amazing artwork of all mediums mainly from local artists (although a few from around Alaska are also featured). More on that later.
I pulled into the auto center, a small, Napa auto part-affiliate on the southside of Homer, roughly halfway between the main town and the Homer Spit (a thin strip of land jutting out into Kachemak Bay that looks like a loogie; one of the major tourist zones of the town). I gave the mechanic my keys and he told me he would call me later that day to let me know what the problem was. Afterwards, I sold out and ate breakfast at McDonalds (I usually hate eating at national chains when traveling but an occasional exception is warranted). For shame. When I drowned my sorrows in sausage fat and hash brown grease, I decided to make best of the situation and walk into town to check it out. I didn't indulge in any of the sights or shops the first day, but the walk was nice and it gave me a little time to relax. I noticed some great little cafes and art galleries on Pioneer St. One cafe in particular featured large, colorful tea cups on top of the front entrance. One serves bee pollen in smoothies for an extra 50 cents. Another is draped with Americana decorations in its interior. Indeed, an eccentric and fun little town.
After my late morning/early afternoon stroll, the subject of lodging became a priority. I had previously decided to visit Homer before the car trouble, and I was gonna rough it out and camp along the Homer Spit. Unfortunately, my gear was in the car, the Spit's campsites were several miles away and closed, and the youth hostel in town was closed for the winter (which is a common occurrence). The nearest lodging was the Beluga Lake Lodge, a higher-end motel that offers decent views of town, part of Beluga Lake and has its own restaurant and bar. Well, there goes that budget trip idea. Luckily, due to it being the off-season, I got a room for a relatively decent price, but $85 is $85. Times that number by three, and here's why:
I visited the auto shop close to their closing time to see if they had found out what was wrong with my car. The diagnosis was a warped coolant housing and a failed power steering pump. They were shocked at how badly it was leaking coolant and damned surprise I was able to get the car down to them. I've noticed throughout my adventure, there have been a lot of "you were damn lucky" moments. Somebody up above must love me a lot. They told me the approximate cost, said there was a good chance they could have it all done by noon Thursday (being today) and it would be all gravy. Roughly $750 with labor. Yes, I know, I got off easy (considering where I am and the what the problems were), but again, $750 is $750, and it doesn't erase the frustration of the situation. I let my hotel know of the situation, informed them that despite their required check-out time of 11 AM that I had to stay until about 1 PM. I called the shop today around 12:15, they told me it would be 3ish before the car would be done. *sigh*. Yep, had to let the hotel know I wouldn't be checking out 'till 4, they informed me there would be a $25 late check out fee, frustration level increases to a 4 out of 5. 4 PM rolls around, I check out, the hotel was nice enough to wave that late fee, frustration level decreases to a 3 out of 5.
With my overfull backpack and tent strapped to my back and my toiletries bag and Lonely Planet Alaska guidebook in hand, I walked the several blocks down to the auto shop. Car should be ready in a few minutes? No problem. It's only 4:30, if I can get out by 5 I can make it up to Ninilchik and make a second attempt at battling my tent with plenty of time before the sun sleeps for the night. 5 rolls around, nothing. 5:30 rolls around...."Yeah...your left front ball bearing is badly damaged to the point where it will essentially destroy that axle if not replaced." Insert a sun-sized F bomb....here. Frustration level: 10 out of 5. If I had left tonight, I wouldn't even be able to make it back to Anchorage, they predicted. I relented. And I knew who's fault that problem was. And, here I am. My third night in Homer, car repair bill roughly $1,000 alone, and only eight days into the trip. Yes, my friends, the big picture is that I need to get home safely. Yes, my friends, considering this is Alaska, I got pretty lucky on both the costs and that the problems could have been much worse. But once again, my friends, allow me to be frustrated at the situation without being reminded of "the big picture". I'll look back on it in a day or two and gladly accept it as part of this grand adventure...okay, maybe in three days...or maybe when I successfully transverse the Alcan (Alaska Highway) back to its terminus in Dawson Creek without incident, but either way, it'll pass. But most likely a day or two is all that will be needed.
Homer is a really cool town, and I did take advantage of the situation to explore some of what this quirky place has to offer, but I think I'm gonna end this blog here. I'll save my impressions on Homer for the next blog, which will hopefully be strictly positive with a dash of playful cynicism and sarcasm for good measure. Good night, my friends, sleep well and hopefully the next blog will be recorded from a location other than Homer.
The journey down to Alaska's Kenai Peninsula has been a mixed bag of extremes. On the one hand, you have some of the most beautiful scenery in the entire state at your finger tips, sprinkled with eccentric towns just waiting for you to accept their offerings of peace, adventure, and great food. On the other hand, my car evidently hasn't seen it this way. The Wankavador, a vehicle that's been with me since my latter high school days, is finally showing signs of age and fatigue.
I have been fortunate enough to have been blessed with the opportunity to embark on one of the most coveted roadtrips in North America, as well as to live Alaska. Not many folks can truly say they've done both of these things, especially at once. So with an epic adventure is bound to have its share of misadventures. The first batch of trouble was waaaaay back in Texas in April when, only one hour west of San Antonio, I came within feet of being annihilated by a doe. I violently swerved out of its way at a good 70 mph and did a 720 off the interstate. Even though this was in the Texas Hill Country, thank God it wasn't in an area of drop offs. I'm sure this didn't do anything good for the car, but of course, a bit shaken, I continued on my way and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. In Seattle, when I realized I left my cameras on the roof of my car when leaving the hotel, I busted the left CV joint ball bearing doing a vicious U-turn to head back and look for them. In Skagway, my fuel pump failed, and eventually that was replaced. And now, what I hope is the grand finale of car trouble, at least for the remainder of this adventure.
In Anchorage, I first noticed the coolant light came on. It's been a while since we've put coolant in the tank so I figured, hey, it's indeed low and added more. Seemed to have solved that little problem, right? It comes on a bit later, but I then assumed the aging electrical system was just being finicky (which does happen), so I thought nothing of it. I kept an eye on the gauge, seemed to be doing alright, no problems. Leaving Anchorage for the Kenai to its south, still no issues to be had...until I reached the town of Ninilchik, my final destination that evening. After discovering its hostel and all but one of its campgrounds were closed for the season, I found the remaining open campground and noticed a lot of smoke coming from the engine. By now, I pretty much assumed something was a bit out of the ordinary. However, first thing was first: setting up camp, because it was getting dark very quickly....yeah, that didn't go too well either, since I don't have much experience setting up tents (but hey, I THINK I can do it now....). Frustrated, I decided to crunch into the front seat of the car and drift off to sleep. I will admit, though, by enveloping myself in a comforter, zipping up my jacket and wearing gloves, it wasn't that uncomfortable temperature wise. I had my nice little pocket of warmth that I was enjoying, but of course, being crunched into the front seat didn't add any comfort value. But hey, it was free and it was a bear-less adventure, and that's really what counts, right?
First chance I got in the morning, I called home to ask my dad to inform him what was wrong and to ask for an opinion on a course of action (yes, the obvious answer would be to get into a shop, but the decision was either to limp back to Anchorage or press on to Homer). Dad took Mom to a doctor's appointment, wouldn't be back for two-three hours. Son of a bitch. Well, back to sleep as best as I could! Dad called me back about two hours later, suggested to take the car back to Anchorage. However, I knew I was only about thirty or so miles from Homer, so I checked to see if they had an auto shop that could check out my vehicle. Yayz, they DID!!!!!!!!!!!! So, I limped off down the Sterling Highway, stopping four times to dump water into the coolant tank to cool off a feverish radiator. If only more cow bell could be the prescription for this fever....
An hour and a half later, I crawled into Homer, population over 5,000, a town with a strong counterculture presence, minimal impact from corporate America and the end of the Kenai's road system from the north. The art scene here is thriving and has several great galleries to visit with amazing artwork of all mediums mainly from local artists (although a few from around Alaska are also featured). More on that later.
I pulled into the auto center, a small, Napa auto part-affiliate on the southside of Homer, roughly halfway between the main town and the Homer Spit (a thin strip of land jutting out into Kachemak Bay that looks like a loogie; one of the major tourist zones of the town). I gave the mechanic my keys and he told me he would call me later that day to let me know what the problem was. Afterwards, I sold out and ate breakfast at McDonalds (I usually hate eating at national chains when traveling but an occasional exception is warranted). For shame. When I drowned my sorrows in sausage fat and hash brown grease, I decided to make best of the situation and walk into town to check it out. I didn't indulge in any of the sights or shops the first day, but the walk was nice and it gave me a little time to relax. I noticed some great little cafes and art galleries on Pioneer St. One cafe in particular featured large, colorful tea cups on top of the front entrance. One serves bee pollen in smoothies for an extra 50 cents. Another is draped with Americana decorations in its interior. Indeed, an eccentric and fun little town.
After my late morning/early afternoon stroll, the subject of lodging became a priority. I had previously decided to visit Homer before the car trouble, and I was gonna rough it out and camp along the Homer Spit. Unfortunately, my gear was in the car, the Spit's campsites were several miles away and closed, and the youth hostel in town was closed for the winter (which is a common occurrence). The nearest lodging was the Beluga Lake Lodge, a higher-end motel that offers decent views of town, part of Beluga Lake and has its own restaurant and bar. Well, there goes that budget trip idea. Luckily, due to it being the off-season, I got a room for a relatively decent price, but $85 is $85. Times that number by three, and here's why:
I visited the auto shop close to their closing time to see if they had found out what was wrong with my car. The diagnosis was a warped coolant housing and a failed power steering pump. They were shocked at how badly it was leaking coolant and damned surprise I was able to get the car down to them. I've noticed throughout my adventure, there have been a lot of "you were damn lucky" moments. Somebody up above must love me a lot. They told me the approximate cost, said there was a good chance they could have it all done by noon Thursday (being today) and it would be all gravy. Roughly $750 with labor. Yes, I know, I got off easy (considering where I am and the what the problems were), but again, $750 is $750, and it doesn't erase the frustration of the situation. I let my hotel know of the situation, informed them that despite their required check-out time of 11 AM that I had to stay until about 1 PM. I called the shop today around 12:15, they told me it would be 3ish before the car would be done. *sigh*. Yep, had to let the hotel know I wouldn't be checking out 'till 4, they informed me there would be a $25 late check out fee, frustration level increases to a 4 out of 5. 4 PM rolls around, I check out, the hotel was nice enough to wave that late fee, frustration level decreases to a 3 out of 5.
With my overfull backpack and tent strapped to my back and my toiletries bag and Lonely Planet Alaska guidebook in hand, I walked the several blocks down to the auto shop. Car should be ready in a few minutes? No problem. It's only 4:30, if I can get out by 5 I can make it up to Ninilchik and make a second attempt at battling my tent with plenty of time before the sun sleeps for the night. 5 rolls around, nothing. 5:30 rolls around...."Yeah...your left front ball bearing is badly damaged to the point where it will essentially destroy that axle if not replaced." Insert a sun-sized F bomb....here. Frustration level: 10 out of 5. If I had left tonight, I wouldn't even be able to make it back to Anchorage, they predicted. I relented. And I knew who's fault that problem was. And, here I am. My third night in Homer, car repair bill roughly $1,000 alone, and only eight days into the trip. Yes, my friends, the big picture is that I need to get home safely. Yes, my friends, considering this is Alaska, I got pretty lucky on both the costs and that the problems could have been much worse. But once again, my friends, allow me to be frustrated at the situation without being reminded of "the big picture". I'll look back on it in a day or two and gladly accept it as part of this grand adventure...okay, maybe in three days...or maybe when I successfully transverse the Alcan (Alaska Highway) back to its terminus in Dawson Creek without incident, but either way, it'll pass. But most likely a day or two is all that will be needed.
Homer is a really cool town, and I did take advantage of the situation to explore some of what this quirky place has to offer, but I think I'm gonna end this blog here. I'll save my impressions on Homer for the next blog, which will hopefully be strictly positive with a dash of playful cynicism and sarcasm for good measure. Good night, my friends, sleep well and hopefully the next blog will be recorded from a location other than Homer.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The Interior Motive
I departed Skagway at 4:30 a.m. this past Thursday, hoping to make the two hour drive north to Whitehorse without hitting a moose and/or bear. After getting my oil change, I treated myself to a McDonald's sausage mcmuffin with egg meal before departing the westbound Alcan, past the soaring peaks of Kluane disappearing under a turbulent cloud blanket. To wake up to 6,000 ft peaks is amazing in itself, but to gaze upon mountains dwarfing Skagway's natural skyline is breathtaking. The dynamic shades of gentle snow with jagged browns towering over Haines Junction like Goliath over David roared through the heavens, and I could only keep looking as I ventured westbound through the southwest Yukon. For lunch, I found a quaint spot overlooking Kluane Lake, where I popped open a can of Chef Boyarde ravioli, whipped out a fork and contently devoured the can's contents while simply peering into the soul of Kluane and its small herd of ducks.
And then the highway veered from the peaks as they transformed into Wrangell-St. Elias National Park (featuring the U.S.'s second largest peak, Mt. St. Elias) upon crossing into Alaska's massive interior. I began to experience exceptional fatigue at this point, which in turn generates inhibitions about, well, most things. Unsure about the itinerary as it stood, I knew that by going to Anchorage first then swinging up to Fairbanks, I stood a large chance of missing out on the Kenai Peninsula and only seeing Alaska's two largest cities (and weather permitting, crossing the Arctic Circle). Only twenty miles before the Tok cut-off, where I was originally headed, I changed the itinerary to what I felt would allow a more fulfilling experience. To Fairbanks it was, another four hours racing down the Alaska Highway at 70 mph, passing by another set of brilliant peaks with a heavier and heavier dose of subarctic peace. As Fairbanks neared, that painter in the sky, our glorious Creator, began washing the peaceful subarctic landscape with shades of brilliant orange over Fall's temporary flame of radiance.
The entire idea of the return journey is to truly travel, to experience an adventure beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. Frugality and saving money are bonuses to this. I experienced rapid growth in Skagway, and that continues on with this journey. Can I truly execute a massive roadtrip as flexible as I'm hoping while experiencing destinations for what they are and still walk through the front doors of my suburban S.A. home with a little cash to spoil? The first day was no indication of this, having blown $80 on a room at an Extended Stay. However, the campgrounds were either full or closed, as was the youth hostel in town. And I did switch up the plan within 50 miles of my original final destination that day. So flexibility was in play, and, it was probably better I had a cozy room to my walled self to help recuperate from a fifteen-hour day.
And so Fairbanks disappeared with little gained, but I knew I made the right decision. So early the next morning, I ate the complimentary breakfast consisting of two bagels and cream cheese, watched Mike Huckabee talk about bass guitars on Fox News, checked out and journeyed into the freezing Alaska air. The ignition turned, the car awoke from its slumber, a little "Supermassive Blackhole" by Muse to start off the day's massive music selection, and southbound I went. It became apparent, though, I wasn't fully in the right frame of mind. Heading southbound down the George Parks Highway, I somehow got this idea I was heading west instead of south, mentally KOed by a sign saying "Leaving Fairbanks and North Pole Borough (North Pole is a town about 11 miles to the west of Fairbanks)". "OMFG, I'M GOING THE WRONG WAY! F#$%%^%G MISLEADING SIGNS!" was about the jist of what I was both thinking and saying to any spirits or renegade hobos who happened to be in my car. Two of them jumped out immediately, and one looked like he needed to change his pants as he skidded along the asphalt.
I turned around, passed by a restaurant with the name "Dick" in it, and then realized I was going the right way the entire time. DUHUR! Imagine the DUHUR if I had driven all the way back to Fairbanks and realized it then. After giving myself a round of idiot applause, my mental compass reseted itself and I was on my way in the correct direction once again. Muse went into Kasey Chambers which went into Social Distortion and, approaching Denali National Park, into the few Beastie Boys songs I've grown to like. There's really nothing like having "Sabotage" blaring through your car as your cruising 70 mph next to the national park harboring The Great One. Standing over 20,000 ft tall, Mount McKinley proudly towers over its sidekicks in the Alaskan Range, and prides itself as the apex of mountain height in North America. Large enough to create its own weather system, it wraps itself in layers of clouds more often than letting it all hang out. It's humble enough to not let it all hang out most of the time because that could very well make its sidekicks develop unnecessary cases of Napoleon Complexes.
And I must say, I did catch a glimpse of The Great One, shrouded in clouds like the norm. The mountain is a good 100 miles from the entrance of the park off the George Parks Highway, and unless the summer shuttle buses are running to take you to the various campgrounds along the sole 92-mile into the heart of the park, its either building your quads tenfold via bicycle, or simply driving further along the highway until you reach an area designated as the best spot to see Mount McKinley from afar. Hitchhiking also works, but please don't fall into a situation where you need to overnight in an outhouse. Oh yes, and when them summer buses stop running, most of the park's campgrounds go with them. Cold, desolate, lonely all describe Denali in the fall and winter, yet Denali (The Great One) is all one would have to answer to. And a stampeding moose.
So with Denali and it's namesake park in my rear view mirror, I drove those final miles into Anchorage, first reaching Wasilla. There was little indication of any love for Sarah Palin, and I'm sure anyone who asks a local about her would get slapped silly.
Anchorage, Alaska's premiere metropolis, boasts nearly half of the state's total population. It's birth in 1915 came to be due to the construction of the Alaska Railroad, and with it, a booming population, eventually snubbing out Juneau's monopoly on population, culture, and transportation. Juneau kept its capital status, Anchorage got pretty much everything else.
I relaxed the first night in Anchorage, had dinner at a Thai restaurant that could rival Skagway's Starfire for (possible) best Thai restaurant in Alaska, and the next day featured a short hike with Slim. He brought his friend's dog, Cooper, with us, and after a good 45-minute drive southbound on the Seward Highway and the "poopers cooper" jokes I was throwing out, we arrived at Bird Creek where we hiked part of one of the trails. We were stoked. Cooper, a blond lab, was stoked. So stoked he splashed through every puddle he could find. Yet, his running ahead of us was our first line of defense against any progressively hungry bears or temperamental moose that might have been in the area. I also had a bold can of bear spray and a full tank of gas to assist if needed. After a while, we stopped next to a sign post that had recently been used as a scratching post by a bear to have lunch. While we ate lunch, what did we find? Low and behold, it's berry-filled bear poop! And what was the reason that Cooper suddenly started barking in a fit of rage? We don't know for sure. Luckily for us, we didn't find out, because as I've mentioned before, being bear poop, or a moose's welcome mat, are not on my bucket list.
Due to the late start and incoming evening, we had to cut short the hike. But on the way back to Anchorage, Slim decided to do a little rock climbing right along the Seward Highway. Putting on his harness and hooking up his ropes, he began his ascent. But the ferocious winds roaring from Prince William Sound to the east, ripped along the Inlet and the highway, bombarding us with hypothermic torture while water, fired off from the Inlet, pierced exposed skin with heat-seeking accuracy. But despite nature's assault, Slim was able to safely propel down to the ground and we returned to Anchorage to dine at a Chinese restaurant which harbored a DeLorean right outside. I was going to check it to see if it had a functioning flux capacitor, but my hunger was simply too great. And it was cold. Slim was disappointed to find out this restaurant wasn't a buffet, but nevertheless, we stayed. Sure, I didn't gorge myself sick with three plates of stacked kung pao chicken with two tons of fried rice, but one plate of a seafood combo with veggies hit the spot and then some.
The next day originally had me visiting a museum, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to check out the play, The Seafarer, playing at Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse, one of Anchorage's top theater venues. Set in Dublin on Christmas Eve, it deals with an alcoholic named Sharky who has recently moved in with his aging brother, Richard, after returning to Dublin from a job in another part of Ireland driving for a married couple. Sharky is determined to not drink despite his family and friends around him seemingly doing nothing but. As Christmas Eve rolls on, a man by the name of Mr. Lockhart arrives with one of Richard's friends. He's, by far, the most neatly dressed of the bunch but he harbors a very sinister secret: he's the devil, and he's come for a particular person's soul. I won't spoil anymore, but the play is a Christian allegory with a healthy dose of swearing and drunkenness to throw around. Really a fantastic play, and all of the actors did a wonderful job with their roles. They truly brought their characters to live, Irish accents and habits and all. Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse is eccentric to the extreme, and that's why I like it. Sure, they'll put on the classic Shakespearean pieces, but they'll also put on ridiculous ones such as Batboy: The Musical. Who wouldn't want to see that? Before the play, though, I simply walked around downtown Anchorage, checking out the cityscape, the women, and of course, the eateries. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, or because they knew I was coming, all of the restaurants I saw were closed and I had to settle for the food court at a nearby mall. I could have saved money and allowed my heart to live another day by eating at the theater but since when have I ever done things efficiently? Back to my host's house it was, watched the Pelican Brief I did, and subsequently slept.
Destination: Kenai Peninsula. But not before I tried my luck at hiking/scrambling up Flattop Mountain. The first challenge was me getting my ass out of bed by 9 a.m. Mission failed. Pack the car in a quick and efficient manner. Half-passed. It was a little after noon before I arrived at the trailhead to Flattop Mountain, a very popular hike in the Anchorage area. Lonely Planet describes it as the stepping stone to mountaineering for the children of Anchorage. The first part of the hike is also part of a trail that loops back to the trailhead. This portion was cake; the trail was very wide and maintained and elevation change was gradual. The second part of the hike was another loop which looped back to its beginning, but this one was a bit more challenging; actual stairs made for a somewhat steep climb and the trail begins to narrow as you hike further up. Okay, so far so good. Both sections are pretty easy, both feature great views of Anchorage, the Coast Mountains, the Turnagain Arm and bear crap. Third time's the charm, right? If by charm one means a dangerous ascent and even more dangerous descent, then charm the pants off of me! The third and final portion consisted of switchbacks on a rocky, unmaintained trail. Not too bad, I dealt with those all the time on the trails around Skagway. However, the final ascent was literally a scramble for the summit. And I did it. I was scared to death about climbing down, but for the two minutes I was up on the summit, I felt accomplished. Now to stare the devil in the face as I began my descent. Now, the final part of this trail, as I said, was rocky; it was also narrow and one misstep met the end of your world as you know it. One area in particular was really bad coming down: you can imagine a very steep, narrow trail, right off the edge features hundreds of feet of bruising, bones breaking and brains oozing excitingly waiting for you. Try coming down on large, uneven, broken rock steps covered in iced-over moss. Dangerous to the max. But I did it. After getting back to the second level, I breathed a sigh of relief and accomplishment, and made sure I didn't have to change my undies. I didn't need to. Freezing my little fingers off, I walked a nearby half-mile loop that featured an overlook of Anchorage before jumping into my car, firing up that ignition and heading southbound to the Kenai Peninsula. It was there the adventure continued with new sights and challenges, ones that would alter the adventure itself.
And then the highway veered from the peaks as they transformed into Wrangell-St. Elias National Park (featuring the U.S.'s second largest peak, Mt. St. Elias) upon crossing into Alaska's massive interior. I began to experience exceptional fatigue at this point, which in turn generates inhibitions about, well, most things. Unsure about the itinerary as it stood, I knew that by going to Anchorage first then swinging up to Fairbanks, I stood a large chance of missing out on the Kenai Peninsula and only seeing Alaska's two largest cities (and weather permitting, crossing the Arctic Circle). Only twenty miles before the Tok cut-off, where I was originally headed, I changed the itinerary to what I felt would allow a more fulfilling experience. To Fairbanks it was, another four hours racing down the Alaska Highway at 70 mph, passing by another set of brilliant peaks with a heavier and heavier dose of subarctic peace. As Fairbanks neared, that painter in the sky, our glorious Creator, began washing the peaceful subarctic landscape with shades of brilliant orange over Fall's temporary flame of radiance.
The entire idea of the return journey is to truly travel, to experience an adventure beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. Frugality and saving money are bonuses to this. I experienced rapid growth in Skagway, and that continues on with this journey. Can I truly execute a massive roadtrip as flexible as I'm hoping while experiencing destinations for what they are and still walk through the front doors of my suburban S.A. home with a little cash to spoil? The first day was no indication of this, having blown $80 on a room at an Extended Stay. However, the campgrounds were either full or closed, as was the youth hostel in town. And I did switch up the plan within 50 miles of my original final destination that day. So flexibility was in play, and, it was probably better I had a cozy room to my walled self to help recuperate from a fifteen-hour day.
And so Fairbanks disappeared with little gained, but I knew I made the right decision. So early the next morning, I ate the complimentary breakfast consisting of two bagels and cream cheese, watched Mike Huckabee talk about bass guitars on Fox News, checked out and journeyed into the freezing Alaska air. The ignition turned, the car awoke from its slumber, a little "Supermassive Blackhole" by Muse to start off the day's massive music selection, and southbound I went. It became apparent, though, I wasn't fully in the right frame of mind. Heading southbound down the George Parks Highway, I somehow got this idea I was heading west instead of south, mentally KOed by a sign saying "Leaving Fairbanks and North Pole Borough (North Pole is a town about 11 miles to the west of Fairbanks)". "OMFG, I'M GOING THE WRONG WAY! F#$%%^%G MISLEADING SIGNS!" was about the jist of what I was both thinking and saying to any spirits or renegade hobos who happened to be in my car. Two of them jumped out immediately, and one looked like he needed to change his pants as he skidded along the asphalt.
I turned around, passed by a restaurant with the name "Dick" in it, and then realized I was going the right way the entire time. DUHUR! Imagine the DUHUR if I had driven all the way back to Fairbanks and realized it then. After giving myself a round of idiot applause, my mental compass reseted itself and I was on my way in the correct direction once again. Muse went into Kasey Chambers which went into Social Distortion and, approaching Denali National Park, into the few Beastie Boys songs I've grown to like. There's really nothing like having "Sabotage" blaring through your car as your cruising 70 mph next to the national park harboring The Great One. Standing over 20,000 ft tall, Mount McKinley proudly towers over its sidekicks in the Alaskan Range, and prides itself as the apex of mountain height in North America. Large enough to create its own weather system, it wraps itself in layers of clouds more often than letting it all hang out. It's humble enough to not let it all hang out most of the time because that could very well make its sidekicks develop unnecessary cases of Napoleon Complexes.
And I must say, I did catch a glimpse of The Great One, shrouded in clouds like the norm. The mountain is a good 100 miles from the entrance of the park off the George Parks Highway, and unless the summer shuttle buses are running to take you to the various campgrounds along the sole 92-mile into the heart of the park, its either building your quads tenfold via bicycle, or simply driving further along the highway until you reach an area designated as the best spot to see Mount McKinley from afar. Hitchhiking also works, but please don't fall into a situation where you need to overnight in an outhouse. Oh yes, and when them summer buses stop running, most of the park's campgrounds go with them. Cold, desolate, lonely all describe Denali in the fall and winter, yet Denali (The Great One) is all one would have to answer to. And a stampeding moose.
So with Denali and it's namesake park in my rear view mirror, I drove those final miles into Anchorage, first reaching Wasilla. There was little indication of any love for Sarah Palin, and I'm sure anyone who asks a local about her would get slapped silly.
Anchorage, Alaska's premiere metropolis, boasts nearly half of the state's total population. It's birth in 1915 came to be due to the construction of the Alaska Railroad, and with it, a booming population, eventually snubbing out Juneau's monopoly on population, culture, and transportation. Juneau kept its capital status, Anchorage got pretty much everything else.
I relaxed the first night in Anchorage, had dinner at a Thai restaurant that could rival Skagway's Starfire for (possible) best Thai restaurant in Alaska, and the next day featured a short hike with Slim. He brought his friend's dog, Cooper, with us, and after a good 45-minute drive southbound on the Seward Highway and the "poopers cooper" jokes I was throwing out, we arrived at Bird Creek where we hiked part of one of the trails. We were stoked. Cooper, a blond lab, was stoked. So stoked he splashed through every puddle he could find. Yet, his running ahead of us was our first line of defense against any progressively hungry bears or temperamental moose that might have been in the area. I also had a bold can of bear spray and a full tank of gas to assist if needed. After a while, we stopped next to a sign post that had recently been used as a scratching post by a bear to have lunch. While we ate lunch, what did we find? Low and behold, it's berry-filled bear poop! And what was the reason that Cooper suddenly started barking in a fit of rage? We don't know for sure. Luckily for us, we didn't find out, because as I've mentioned before, being bear poop, or a moose's welcome mat, are not on my bucket list.
Due to the late start and incoming evening, we had to cut short the hike. But on the way back to Anchorage, Slim decided to do a little rock climbing right along the Seward Highway. Putting on his harness and hooking up his ropes, he began his ascent. But the ferocious winds roaring from Prince William Sound to the east, ripped along the Inlet and the highway, bombarding us with hypothermic torture while water, fired off from the Inlet, pierced exposed skin with heat-seeking accuracy. But despite nature's assault, Slim was able to safely propel down to the ground and we returned to Anchorage to dine at a Chinese restaurant which harbored a DeLorean right outside. I was going to check it to see if it had a functioning flux capacitor, but my hunger was simply too great. And it was cold. Slim was disappointed to find out this restaurant wasn't a buffet, but nevertheless, we stayed. Sure, I didn't gorge myself sick with three plates of stacked kung pao chicken with two tons of fried rice, but one plate of a seafood combo with veggies hit the spot and then some.
The next day originally had me visiting a museum, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to check out the play, The Seafarer, playing at Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse, one of Anchorage's top theater venues. Set in Dublin on Christmas Eve, it deals with an alcoholic named Sharky who has recently moved in with his aging brother, Richard, after returning to Dublin from a job in another part of Ireland driving for a married couple. Sharky is determined to not drink despite his family and friends around him seemingly doing nothing but. As Christmas Eve rolls on, a man by the name of Mr. Lockhart arrives with one of Richard's friends. He's, by far, the most neatly dressed of the bunch but he harbors a very sinister secret: he's the devil, and he's come for a particular person's soul. I won't spoil anymore, but the play is a Christian allegory with a healthy dose of swearing and drunkenness to throw around. Really a fantastic play, and all of the actors did a wonderful job with their roles. They truly brought their characters to live, Irish accents and habits and all. Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse is eccentric to the extreme, and that's why I like it. Sure, they'll put on the classic Shakespearean pieces, but they'll also put on ridiculous ones such as Batboy: The Musical. Who wouldn't want to see that? Before the play, though, I simply walked around downtown Anchorage, checking out the cityscape, the women, and of course, the eateries. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, or because they knew I was coming, all of the restaurants I saw were closed and I had to settle for the food court at a nearby mall. I could have saved money and allowed my heart to live another day by eating at the theater but since when have I ever done things efficiently? Back to my host's house it was, watched the Pelican Brief I did, and subsequently slept.
Destination: Kenai Peninsula. But not before I tried my luck at hiking/scrambling up Flattop Mountain. The first challenge was me getting my ass out of bed by 9 a.m. Mission failed. Pack the car in a quick and efficient manner. Half-passed. It was a little after noon before I arrived at the trailhead to Flattop Mountain, a very popular hike in the Anchorage area. Lonely Planet describes it as the stepping stone to mountaineering for the children of Anchorage. The first part of the hike is also part of a trail that loops back to the trailhead. This portion was cake; the trail was very wide and maintained and elevation change was gradual. The second part of the hike was another loop which looped back to its beginning, but this one was a bit more challenging; actual stairs made for a somewhat steep climb and the trail begins to narrow as you hike further up. Okay, so far so good. Both sections are pretty easy, both feature great views of Anchorage, the Coast Mountains, the Turnagain Arm and bear crap. Third time's the charm, right? If by charm one means a dangerous ascent and even more dangerous descent, then charm the pants off of me! The third and final portion consisted of switchbacks on a rocky, unmaintained trail. Not too bad, I dealt with those all the time on the trails around Skagway. However, the final ascent was literally a scramble for the summit. And I did it. I was scared to death about climbing down, but for the two minutes I was up on the summit, I felt accomplished. Now to stare the devil in the face as I began my descent. Now, the final part of this trail, as I said, was rocky; it was also narrow and one misstep met the end of your world as you know it. One area in particular was really bad coming down: you can imagine a very steep, narrow trail, right off the edge features hundreds of feet of bruising, bones breaking and brains oozing excitingly waiting for you. Try coming down on large, uneven, broken rock steps covered in iced-over moss. Dangerous to the max. But I did it. After getting back to the second level, I breathed a sigh of relief and accomplishment, and made sure I didn't have to change my undies. I didn't need to. Freezing my little fingers off, I walked a nearby half-mile loop that featured an overlook of Anchorage before jumping into my car, firing up that ignition and heading southbound to the Kenai Peninsula. It was there the adventure continued with new sights and challenges, ones that would alter the adventure itself.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
No Sleep Till Texas
So I (possibly) lied, the last one wasn't the final blog before the end of the season.
Early early morning on the 30th, I plan to depart Skagway for Whitehorse in order to get an oil change and to pick up supplies and gear before heading out. It's looking like I'll be exploring the interior of Alaska before making my way south.
Two ship days left, and the 2010 cruise season closes out, paving the way for another quiet and cold winter to return. A chance of snow on Friday is pretty exciting.
I originally set a meeting date with Holiday Vacations (a tour operator based in Eau Claire, WI) for October 22nd to discuss possible employment as a part time Tour Director, but I'm hoping to change that to the 29th of October. If that's the case, I have a full month on the road in Alaska and Canada. I'm hoping to be in Houston by November 18th (Social Distortion show the next day!), which could be my final stop before the homestretch to San Antonio. After Thanksgiving, is it possible I may fly out to Las Vegas to meet with some of my new Alaskan friends? Hopefully so! Between those two dates, everything is flexible and in the air, which should make the adventure home that much more exciting. No sleep till Texas...just the way I like it.
The bittersweet countdown continues!
Early early morning on the 30th, I plan to depart Skagway for Whitehorse in order to get an oil change and to pick up supplies and gear before heading out. It's looking like I'll be exploring the interior of Alaska before making my way south.
Two ship days left, and the 2010 cruise season closes out, paving the way for another quiet and cold winter to return. A chance of snow on Friday is pretty exciting.
I originally set a meeting date with Holiday Vacations (a tour operator based in Eau Claire, WI) for October 22nd to discuss possible employment as a part time Tour Director, but I'm hoping to change that to the 29th of October. If that's the case, I have a full month on the road in Alaska and Canada. I'm hoping to be in Houston by November 18th (Social Distortion show the next day!), which could be my final stop before the homestretch to San Antonio. After Thanksgiving, is it possible I may fly out to Las Vegas to meet with some of my new Alaskan friends? Hopefully so! Between those two dates, everything is flexible and in the air, which should make the adventure home that much more exciting. No sleep till Texas...just the way I like it.
The bittersweet countdown continues!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Last Guide Standing
This past week has seen my 26th birthday come and go, two spectacular nights of the Northern Lights (including on my birthday!) and more goodbyes. Officially, I will be the final Tour Guide to leave this season. Vick and Deb departed for Juneau to catch their flights this afternoon, Dane and Dusty depart this Monday and Slim's final day is this coming Friday. I have at least one train tour lined up for each of the remaining four ship days in the season. I find myself anxious, saddened, excited, and nervous. I'm finalizing the route home and when I hope to be in certain places to visit friends, family and even talk with other Tour Operators. Do I continue the roadtrip by heading for the Alaskan interior or straight down the Alcan and subsequently into Alberta? I still don't know the answer to that question yet. But what is known for sure is that I will be the last guide standing for the 2010 cruise ship season here at the Klondike Gold Fields. My next blog will most likely be the final one of this summer before the roadtrip continues.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Countdown Begins
If the schedule holds true, we have one month before the season ends. Rumor has it, though, the Norwegian Star won't make its final port of call on the 29th of September, which means the season will end on the 24th. While the experience has been an overall positive one, focus is now shifting to what is to come, and the anticipation of the next great roadtrip is increasing by the day. September is around the corner, the colors are already changing into their fall brilliance, and the Days of '98 are growing shorter. I already feel as if the winter has arrived despite a month remaining in the cruise season. September is just around the corner, and the homestretch to Dawson looks to be quiet. The countdown begins.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Isolated Paradox
Trampled By Turtles fired up the Red Onion like the Days of '98 never ceased with Southern bluegrass attitude. The Drag Queen Show brought the oddity of a small town to the magnification of Alaska-sized proportions. A Belly Bumping contest can roll eyes and bellies alike with a healthy does of alcohol intoxication. So what does a bluegrass band, drag and belly bumping all have in common?
Nothing.
But that's how Skagway rolls. A quirky town at the mercy of bitterly cold winds and built on the hopes and greed of gold, represented by a small, eccentric group of diverse personalities, catering to hundreds of thousands of camera-snapping tourists in a five-month period. Maybe the Days of '98 haven't ceased. Who knew a small town can be an isolated paradox of the stereotypes of what a small town should be, projecting a bi-polar mentality of carnivorous ferocity that makes night and day out to be indistinguishable shades of gray? And yet, it's all packed away as a simple charm, snuggled eloquently between the Lynn Canal and the Coast Mountains, ready to unleash a supernova from its white dwarf confinements.
Indeed, an isolated paradox.
Nothing.
But that's how Skagway rolls. A quirky town at the mercy of bitterly cold winds and built on the hopes and greed of gold, represented by a small, eccentric group of diverse personalities, catering to hundreds of thousands of camera-snapping tourists in a five-month period. Maybe the Days of '98 haven't ceased. Who knew a small town can be an isolated paradox of the stereotypes of what a small town should be, projecting a bi-polar mentality of carnivorous ferocity that makes night and day out to be indistinguishable shades of gray? And yet, it's all packed away as a simple charm, snuggled eloquently between the Lynn Canal and the Coast Mountains, ready to unleash a supernova from its white dwarf confinements.
Indeed, an isolated paradox.
Friday, August 20, 2010
August Burns Twilight
I haven't kept up with the blog as much as I would like, but then again, it's more interesting to speak of life as it's being spiced up by a variety of spices, both contradicting and complimentary.
It seems just like yesterday when I first stepped into the frozen solitude of where the north wind blows, and already I can see Dawson in the distance. No closer am I to knowing my journey through the winter months or next summer, but maybe it's better that way. It keeps me on my toes and I won't be caught with my pants down. Until September 29. Then everyone will be caught with their pants down.
Our many ventures out to Dyea has revealed only one bear, but what a beauty it was! A young, 600-lb grizzly simply fishing for its next meal with a dozen humans mere feet from its hunting ground. How foolish we were, but how mesmorizing the creature was! Our journey to Juneau revealed nearly a dozen whales, countless seals, many eagles, and what seemed like more shopping ventures than galaxies in the universe. It was all topped off with the magnificent excursion to Mendenhall Glacier, revealing both its rough and tough exterior and its powerful, deep blue passion of its core being.
And of course, the tours have all gone well. I've even been receiving tips for dredge tours, which is almost never heard of. With numbers down, I've only been landing one train tour a week, but I've made sure I give it my best. So much experience has been gained in only a few short months, but I know there's a lot more to gain. Now, the focus is shifting to another job search and the possibilities for the winter. Oh yes, and getting my car fixed once and for all (Whitehorse next Thursday for that).
Tator, Lady Rush and the Bezel Queen have departed for their semesters of higher education, and along with the fireweed's brilliant fuchsia transforming to pale white cotton unleashed to the mercy of the north wind, signals the beginning of the end of what's been shaping to be a summer of the ages. With still over a month left, August burns twilight, but the sun hasn't set quite yet. We may have conquered the Golden Stairs over the Chilkoot Summit, we may have survived Bennett's winter and the Yukon's vicious rapids, but we haven't reached Dawson yet.
It seems just like yesterday when I first stepped into the frozen solitude of where the north wind blows, and already I can see Dawson in the distance. No closer am I to knowing my journey through the winter months or next summer, but maybe it's better that way. It keeps me on my toes and I won't be caught with my pants down. Until September 29. Then everyone will be caught with their pants down.
Our many ventures out to Dyea has revealed only one bear, but what a beauty it was! A young, 600-lb grizzly simply fishing for its next meal with a dozen humans mere feet from its hunting ground. How foolish we were, but how mesmorizing the creature was! Our journey to Juneau revealed nearly a dozen whales, countless seals, many eagles, and what seemed like more shopping ventures than galaxies in the universe. It was all topped off with the magnificent excursion to Mendenhall Glacier, revealing both its rough and tough exterior and its powerful, deep blue passion of its core being.
And of course, the tours have all gone well. I've even been receiving tips for dredge tours, which is almost never heard of. With numbers down, I've only been landing one train tour a week, but I've made sure I give it my best. So much experience has been gained in only a few short months, but I know there's a lot more to gain. Now, the focus is shifting to another job search and the possibilities for the winter. Oh yes, and getting my car fixed once and for all (Whitehorse next Thursday for that).
Tator, Lady Rush and the Bezel Queen have departed for their semesters of higher education, and along with the fireweed's brilliant fuchsia transforming to pale white cotton unleashed to the mercy of the north wind, signals the beginning of the end of what's been shaping to be a summer of the ages. With still over a month left, August burns twilight, but the sun hasn't set quite yet. We may have conquered the Golden Stairs over the Chilkoot Summit, we may have survived Bennett's winter and the Yukon's vicious rapids, but we haven't reached Dawson yet.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Christmas in July
This past weekend brought to us a festive feast of December proportions. Turkey, turkey, and more turkey with mashed potatoes, dressing, and a variety of desserts. Our white elephant exchange was a big success; Teak landed a pair of size 6 women's underwoos and anti-diarrhea medication, arguably the funniest gag. I purchased a license plate with the text "OLDFART" on it. Various other gifts including a cobra frisbee, a tom tom, a giant water gun, and various necklaces were also received. Oh yes, and I landed a racket zapper to take care of this pesky bug problem we have in the Alaskan frontier.
At this time, I want to post a rendition of A Visit from St. Nicholas (a.k.a. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas). It's heavily based around the dredge crew here so, to some, the references won't make sense. Footnotes will change that. The poem has been tweaked a bit since reading it this past weekend, but it's pretty much the same.
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the dredge
Not a tourist was stirring, not even in the sheds
The stockings were hung in the trommel with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon fall in there
The guides were nestled, all snug in their beds
While visions of happy tourists danced in their heads
The bear and her cubs lay silently at bay
And we hoped and prayed that's where they would stay
When out in the parking lot arose a commotion
I fell on my heater in a hurried motion
Slammed into the door, I hit with a crash
I opened that door, and went out in a dash
The midnight sun on the puddles of melted snow
Gave the mystique of Alaska to my reflection below
When what appeared to my frostbitten eyes
but the elongated Pickle*(1) and eight tour guides
With the chipper young driver, so youthful from afar
I knew in a moment it must be Lone Star*(2)
More rapid than eagles, her tour guides they came
And she effervescently shouted and called them by name
"Now Moose Jaw! Now Tator! Now Tall Tale! Now Slim!
On, Lady Rush! On, Ms. Nugget! On Dawson Dave and Gus Chiggins!*(2)
Back to Dry Storage and to the ends of the Earth!
Bing Bang Snack Bags!*(3) from Skagway to Perth!"
As cottonwood falls after the Inlet winds roar
When they meet the ground, stuck forever more
So to the room the guides marched in stride
With boxes of cheese, wet naps and Milano cookies inside
And then with a bang, I heard in the dredge
A groan of a man who lives life on the edge
As I climbed the buckets to peer inside
Old St. Nicholas, in the trommel, is taking a ride
His eyes - how blackened! His dimples - how bruised!
Battered as if he were on a gold dredge cruise!
He climbed down the buckets with great care
Facing a curious crowd who could only stare
For the stockings in the trommel, who was to blame?
Moose Jaw, Tator, Slim or even Dawson Dave?
I peered below to St. Nick tending his knee
While the Bezel Queen*(4) angrily glared at the Mountie*(5)
But before any blame could go around
St. Nick motioned for all to be void of sound
He said with laughter, "I simply didn't control my pace!"
"Could be worse, at least I wasn't sprayed with bear mace!"
Up the buckets again he climbed with joy
Through the heart and bowels of this Klondike toy
Like sixty years past, he gave its fill of gold*(6)
Resonating into the minds of young and old
Over the stacker and behind the dredge
Crashing through the roof of the panning sheads
He said with a beaming smile, despite his plight
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
*(1) - "The Pickle" is a long green car that serves as one of our major work vehicles
*(2) - Lone Star and Tall Tale are our two team leaders, and Moose Jaw, Tator, Slim, Lady Rush, Ms. Nugget, Dawson Dave and Guss Chiggins are us tour guides.
*(3) - "Bing bang snack bags!" - a phrase coined by either Teak (Guss Chiggins) or the other Dave (Dawson Dave) humorously comparing making snack bags for our train tours to sweatshops.
*(4) - Bezel Queen - name given to Serena, our best bezel saleswoman, for this poem
*(5) - Mountie here refers to my character (Moose Jaw).
*(6) - Our dredge was working up in the Yukon Territory sixty years ago.
At this time, I want to post a rendition of A Visit from St. Nicholas (a.k.a. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas). It's heavily based around the dredge crew here so, to some, the references won't make sense. Footnotes will change that. The poem has been tweaked a bit since reading it this past weekend, but it's pretty much the same.
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the dredge
Not a tourist was stirring, not even in the sheds
The stockings were hung in the trommel with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon fall in there
The guides were nestled, all snug in their beds
While visions of happy tourists danced in their heads
The bear and her cubs lay silently at bay
And we hoped and prayed that's where they would stay
When out in the parking lot arose a commotion
I fell on my heater in a hurried motion
Slammed into the door, I hit with a crash
I opened that door, and went out in a dash
The midnight sun on the puddles of melted snow
Gave the mystique of Alaska to my reflection below
When what appeared to my frostbitten eyes
but the elongated Pickle*(1) and eight tour guides
With the chipper young driver, so youthful from afar
I knew in a moment it must be Lone Star*(2)
More rapid than eagles, her tour guides they came
And she effervescently shouted and called them by name
"Now Moose Jaw! Now Tator! Now Tall Tale! Now Slim!
On, Lady Rush! On, Ms. Nugget! On Dawson Dave and Gus Chiggins!*(2)
Back to Dry Storage and to the ends of the Earth!
Bing Bang Snack Bags!*(3) from Skagway to Perth!"
As cottonwood falls after the Inlet winds roar
When they meet the ground, stuck forever more
So to the room the guides marched in stride
With boxes of cheese, wet naps and Milano cookies inside
And then with a bang, I heard in the dredge
A groan of a man who lives life on the edge
As I climbed the buckets to peer inside
Old St. Nicholas, in the trommel, is taking a ride
His eyes - how blackened! His dimples - how bruised!
Battered as if he were on a gold dredge cruise!
He climbed down the buckets with great care
Facing a curious crowd who could only stare
For the stockings in the trommel, who was to blame?
Moose Jaw, Tator, Slim or even Dawson Dave?
I peered below to St. Nick tending his knee
While the Bezel Queen*(4) angrily glared at the Mountie*(5)
But before any blame could go around
St. Nick motioned for all to be void of sound
He said with laughter, "I simply didn't control my pace!"
"Could be worse, at least I wasn't sprayed with bear mace!"
Up the buckets again he climbed with joy
Through the heart and bowels of this Klondike toy
Like sixty years past, he gave its fill of gold*(6)
Resonating into the minds of young and old
Over the stacker and behind the dredge
Crashing through the roof of the panning sheads
He said with a beaming smile, despite his plight
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
*(1) - "The Pickle" is a long green car that serves as one of our major work vehicles
*(2) - Lone Star and Tall Tale are our two team leaders, and Moose Jaw, Tator, Slim, Lady Rush, Ms. Nugget, Dawson Dave and Guss Chiggins are us tour guides.
*(3) - "Bing bang snack bags!" - a phrase coined by either Teak (Guss Chiggins) or the other Dave (Dawson Dave) humorously comparing making snack bags for our train tours to sweatshops.
*(4) - Bezel Queen - name given to Serena, our best bezel saleswoman, for this poem
*(5) - Mountie here refers to my character (Moose Jaw).
*(6) - Our dredge was working up in the Yukon Territory sixty years ago.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
The Ghosts of Dyea
My car is alive once again, and just in time for the preliminary days before the salmon run. Bears, bears and more bears will come out of their timid shells and will rejoice. And the souls who so dearly want to see them will come out of their plaster houses and will rejoice.
So begins the series of journeys to our west, to capture creation at its best, to see the animals that have the honor of painting a cute image in our minds while clawing fear in our hearts. And so we drove, along the winding curves of Dyea Road with a rock 'n' roll pot luck feeding our ears and the glacially-slashed scenery intoxicating our eyes.
So many trampled this shore, wanting so much more, and drowning in a fool's paradise. And nothing remains but what is truly the same, the same as before. Dyea, what sprang up so fast, we now stand on that deserted beach of a century's past. But the Chilkoot can keep its golden stairs, because we're here for the black and brown bears, marching our way to the shore.
The paw prints were a good sign, but the sun was cruising past nine, and we wanted to continue the hunt. But the mud sloshed beneath our shoes, and the beasts of the flats were nowhere to be seen. We were simply three souls breathing the life of the ghosts of Dyea.
So begins the series of journeys to our west, to capture creation at its best, to see the animals that have the honor of painting a cute image in our minds while clawing fear in our hearts. And so we drove, along the winding curves of Dyea Road with a rock 'n' roll pot luck feeding our ears and the glacially-slashed scenery intoxicating our eyes.
So many trampled this shore, wanting so much more, and drowning in a fool's paradise. And nothing remains but what is truly the same, the same as before. Dyea, what sprang up so fast, we now stand on that deserted beach of a century's past. But the Chilkoot can keep its golden stairs, because we're here for the black and brown bears, marching our way to the shore.
The paw prints were a good sign, but the sun was cruising past nine, and we wanted to continue the hunt. But the mud sloshed beneath our shoes, and the beasts of the flats were nowhere to be seen. We were simply three souls breathing the life of the ghosts of Dyea.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Did They Really Say That?
Some head-slapping quotes from tourists here in Alaska.
Outside of our gift shop, talking to a lady:
"What's the difference between Alaska and the Yukon?"
"The Yukon is part of Canada and Alaska is part of the U.S.
"Oh, okay. So, where are we at?"
On a chilly day, a man puts on a jacket, and approaches me:
"What's this coat for exactly?"
While standing on the dock in my Mountie uniform, a woman on my train tour approaches me and the first thing she says to me is:
"You're not a real Mountie. You're in America"
Outside of our gift shop, talking to a lady:
"What's the difference between Alaska and the Yukon?"
"The Yukon is part of Canada and Alaska is part of the U.S.
"Oh, okay. So, where are we at?"
On a chilly day, a man puts on a jacket, and approaches me:
"What's this coat for exactly?"
While standing on the dock in my Mountie uniform, a woman on my train tour approaches me and the first thing she says to me is:
"You're not a real Mountie. You're in America"
Monday, June 28, 2010
The Jester Where the North Wind Blows
A simple man with goals of ambitious learning and engaging excitement can only find himself in abrasive crossfire of third-party emotions and disappointment. The negotiations table shattered with seemingly counter-productive dialogue flinging about with yo-yo precision. And out of the simple intention of wanting peace, the simple kindness of third-party support, he became the jester where the north wind blows, and where the midnight sun has since caught the final train to the Yukon until another year rises. Yet, he realizes these are simply the words of fleeting frustration and that his ambitious learning and engaging excitement will continue long after the curtain falls on this Alaskan drama. The only question remains: will this end as a tragedy, or a comedy?
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Taste of the South in the Cold, Rainy North
Tonight featured an incredible Southern meal of fried chicken, homemade fries, salad, white rice and pineapple upside-down cake with ice cream for dessert. While I'm by no means homesick, it was still a nice reminder of my roots under the cold, rainy Alaskan sky. It's a tad weird to need a coat and gloves in the middle of June, but that's one of Alaska's many charms. It beats the 100+ degree heat that's recently been choking my Texas home.
Eagles have soared above me, and eagles have fed on their prey within 100 feet of me. I've seen eleven of them since my arrival two months ago. One of nature's most majestic creatures, combing the skies of Skagway patiently stalking its next meal. Will it be a fish? A seagull? A dog? A tourist? Mountain goats, a couple of otters and even a black bear have also appeared. Once my car is fixed up, I'm hoping to get a group together to drive out to Dyea to watch more bears from a safe yet less entertaining distance. Whether safety or insanity wins out remains to be seen. However, I assure everyone we won't run if we get too close (running away automatically activates the bear's hunting instincts which will result in a high speed chase that almost guarantees the runner will lose).
I, Moose Jaw Dave of the North West Mounted Police, greatly enjoy my job. Train tours, especially ones involving champagne toasts, are my favorite, but everything is top notch. At the White Pass Summit, we toast to the ones who traveled the route of Hell with hardened hearts and broken souls before us, and we toast to the ones who will ride the route of paradise after us. We even toasted in hopes of Winnipeg acquiring a new NHL franchise in the future, because that's important too (and the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, which is t3h awesome).
Tourists love to be shown a good time, which includes entertaining commentary and bad jokes. And snack bags. We can't forget about the snack bags, especially the Milano cookies and cheese. I just wish everyone would stop stealing my moose.
The first of two summer solstice parties is tomorrow night, a celebration of the midnight sun and the continuation of the Tales of '98. Until next time!
Eagles have soared above me, and eagles have fed on their prey within 100 feet of me. I've seen eleven of them since my arrival two months ago. One of nature's most majestic creatures, combing the skies of Skagway patiently stalking its next meal. Will it be a fish? A seagull? A dog? A tourist? Mountain goats, a couple of otters and even a black bear have also appeared. Once my car is fixed up, I'm hoping to get a group together to drive out to Dyea to watch more bears from a safe yet less entertaining distance. Whether safety or insanity wins out remains to be seen. However, I assure everyone we won't run if we get too close (running away automatically activates the bear's hunting instincts which will result in a high speed chase that almost guarantees the runner will lose).
I, Moose Jaw Dave of the North West Mounted Police, greatly enjoy my job. Train tours, especially ones involving champagne toasts, are my favorite, but everything is top notch. At the White Pass Summit, we toast to the ones who traveled the route of Hell with hardened hearts and broken souls before us, and we toast to the ones who will ride the route of paradise after us. We even toasted in hopes of Winnipeg acquiring a new NHL franchise in the future, because that's important too (and the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, which is t3h awesome).
Tourists love to be shown a good time, which includes entertaining commentary and bad jokes. And snack bags. We can't forget about the snack bags, especially the Milano cookies and cheese. I just wish everyone would stop stealing my moose.
The first of two summer solstice parties is tomorrow night, a celebration of the midnight sun and the continuation of the Tales of '98. Until next time!
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Wild Wild Week
My mind is simply too exhausted to go into any interesting and/or eccentric details about this past busy week. But maybe I'll give it a shot anyway.
We believed and trusted we could make the journey to Upper Dewey, but with part of the trail choked in mud and still buried in foot-deep snow, we had to turn back. Of course, what would be a story of hiking be if it doesn't include me falling on my buttox? I indulged in an icy slip-n-slide nine times on our descent, and not a single life lost. King Koopa may have hidden the Princess in another castle, but I live to rescue her another day.
And what Alaskan story is authentic without a tale of a fuel pump that crapped out? Thanks, fuel pump. My car is a 2-ton pollen collector now thanks to you. I shall have my revenge soon.
But the sun shone, and the clouds broke, and I was blessed with a seven-hour tour. I dredged their minds, they struck it rich, they drank their beer and we rode our train. And we had a blast. In fact, all three of my train tours have been superb in their own right. Beautiful scenery, a diverse mix of people, a champagne cork in my eye, what else can you ask for?
The first couple of 4-ship days have gone smoothly. My stomach caught a bad case of the grumpies last night and into today. Indulgence on homemade chocolate chip cookies and doughnuts courtesy of gift ship leftovers. Tales of bears told with none in sight.
Zip lining? Not a problem! I controlled my fear of heights to enjoy a fabulous morning of zip lining with my co-workers. High above, racing from tree to tree, we were Ewoks if only for a moment in time. The finale was a football-length zip line, allowing us to approach speeds of up to 50 mph on the way down to an adrenaline-fueled finish. Some of my zip lining tricks? Doing Liu Kang's bicycle kick and shouting Die Hard quotes as a I raced down.
And most importantly, for the first time in my life, I can proudly say I love my job. It's been a wild wild week, and I look forward to many more.
We believed and trusted we could make the journey to Upper Dewey, but with part of the trail choked in mud and still buried in foot-deep snow, we had to turn back. Of course, what would be a story of hiking be if it doesn't include me falling on my buttox? I indulged in an icy slip-n-slide nine times on our descent, and not a single life lost. King Koopa may have hidden the Princess in another castle, but I live to rescue her another day.
And what Alaskan story is authentic without a tale of a fuel pump that crapped out? Thanks, fuel pump. My car is a 2-ton pollen collector now thanks to you. I shall have my revenge soon.
But the sun shone, and the clouds broke, and I was blessed with a seven-hour tour. I dredged their minds, they struck it rich, they drank their beer and we rode our train. And we had a blast. In fact, all three of my train tours have been superb in their own right. Beautiful scenery, a diverse mix of people, a champagne cork in my eye, what else can you ask for?
The first couple of 4-ship days have gone smoothly. My stomach caught a bad case of the grumpies last night and into today. Indulgence on homemade chocolate chip cookies and doughnuts courtesy of gift ship leftovers. Tales of bears told with none in sight.
Zip lining? Not a problem! I controlled my fear of heights to enjoy a fabulous morning of zip lining with my co-workers. High above, racing from tree to tree, we were Ewoks if only for a moment in time. The finale was a football-length zip line, allowing us to approach speeds of up to 50 mph on the way down to an adrenaline-fueled finish. Some of my zip lining tricks? Doing Liu Kang's bicycle kick and shouting Die Hard quotes as a I raced down.
And most importantly, for the first time in my life, I can proudly say I love my job. It's been a wild wild week, and I look forward to many more.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
An Alaska of Imagination.
One of the best pieces of advice when giving tours is to feature the weather, never fear it. A cold, rainy Alaska day could very well have ruined the day for many passengers. But as that train steadily ascended beyond the heavens, the rain switched to snow, and a winter wonderland enveloped the train. Sure, the purty views of all of the mountains aren't in their full sunlight behemoth wonder.
That's typical. That's postcard. That's mundane.
Show the guests the mountains shrouded in mist with a gentle snow falling all around. Let them experience an Alaska of the imagination, not an Alaska of a postcard. Let them feel a sense of wonder and adventure, as that train followed the footsteps of many before it, the same people who looked at those same mountains and cursed every grain of gravel from their bases to their summits. The passengers may not have seen the sheer vicious tops of the Sawtooth Mountains or a sun-soaked view from Inspiration Point, but their imaginations contemplated a world of mystery. They were the lucky ones today, because the Alaska of imagination became their reality. They saw the pictures of the Days of '98, and with those images burned into their minds, they rode that same path, sharing a journey in a different time but with the same sense of adventure and awe.
White Pass...what was a corpse-tainted trail of frostbitten hell a century ago became a gentle trail of romanticized wonder. This is truly an Alaska of imagination. Cherish it. Embrace it. Become inspired by it.
That's typical. That's postcard. That's mundane.
Show the guests the mountains shrouded in mist with a gentle snow falling all around. Let them experience an Alaska of the imagination, not an Alaska of a postcard. Let them feel a sense of wonder and adventure, as that train followed the footsteps of many before it, the same people who looked at those same mountains and cursed every grain of gravel from their bases to their summits. The passengers may not have seen the sheer vicious tops of the Sawtooth Mountains or a sun-soaked view from Inspiration Point, but their imaginations contemplated a world of mystery. They were the lucky ones today, because the Alaska of imagination became their reality. They saw the pictures of the Days of '98, and with those images burned into their minds, they rode that same path, sharing a journey in a different time but with the same sense of adventure and awe.
White Pass...what was a corpse-tainted trail of frostbitten hell a century ago became a gentle trail of romanticized wonder. This is truly an Alaska of imagination. Cherish it. Embrace it. Become inspired by it.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Moosejaw Dave is the Name, Punching Moose and Tour Guiding Are My Games
Moosejaw Dave is my character name. I am going to be "playing" a Mountie who, one early October evening, fended off a raging moose via a punch to its jaw in my kitchen and subsequently kept it as a pet and main means of transportation. My character will exhibit an eccentric mix of authoritative, corrupt and effervescent aspects all rolled into one (mainly during the gold panning demonstrations).
We also have Tall Tale Tuwanda, a magician; Delila Doright, a reformed prostitute; Slim Pickins, a derelict guitar-playing prospector; Sourdough Sam, a soft-spoken large man who is Slim's rival; Dawson Dave, a swindler; Gus Chiggins, a shady and sharply-dressed business man; Skagway Sonny, the drunken gold panning expert.
This is the main group of guides thus far. We're expecting another one sometime later this month.
I'll be leading the first dredge tour of the season tomorrow morning at 9:15 a.m. Providing I can fix this current lint disaster on my Mountie uniform, I'll be dressed as such leading six people through the dredge. Sonny and Slim will then take the group for the first gold panning show of the season. I'm all sorts of emotions rolled into one, but I have faith things will go just fine. We only have one cruise ship in port tomorrow, and should have no more than 100 people visiting the grounds the entire day (contrast that to when the season really ramps up where a 700-person day isn't out of the question).
Flexibility, patience, a positive attitude, and most importantly, enthusiasm, will be exceptionally important. May 5, 9:15 a.m. will be the sunrise of my travel career.
We also have Tall Tale Tuwanda, a magician; Delila Doright, a reformed prostitute; Slim Pickins, a derelict guitar-playing prospector; Sourdough Sam, a soft-spoken large man who is Slim's rival; Dawson Dave, a swindler; Gus Chiggins, a shady and sharply-dressed business man; Skagway Sonny, the drunken gold panning expert.
This is the main group of guides thus far. We're expecting another one sometime later this month.
I'll be leading the first dredge tour of the season tomorrow morning at 9:15 a.m. Providing I can fix this current lint disaster on my Mountie uniform, I'll be dressed as such leading six people through the dredge. Sonny and Slim will then take the group for the first gold panning show of the season. I'm all sorts of emotions rolled into one, but I have faith things will go just fine. We only have one cruise ship in port tomorrow, and should have no more than 100 people visiting the grounds the entire day (contrast that to when the season really ramps up where a 700-person day isn't out of the question).
Flexibility, patience, a positive attitude, and most importantly, enthusiasm, will be exceptionally important. May 5, 9:15 a.m. will be the sunrise of my travel career.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Tales of '98
Soapy Smith may be long gone and the Klondike Gold Rush long over, but Skagway is entrenched in a little known, but incredibly fascinating, history. I'll admit that gold rushes aren't exactly the most exciting historical events from the outside. But on closer inspection, one will find the fascinating stories of individual hardship, tragedy and yes, even success, paved in blood, sweat, tears, booze and debauchery, with a sprinkle of gold dust for good measure. It's this sheer rough, jagged determination and the extreme tests of the human condition imposed on all who dared follow their dreams where the beauty of these events lie. Their journeys offer valuable and relevant lessons for us today, to follow our hearts and dreams through valleys of death to reach the goals we seek.
Many prospectors were average joes like you and I, looking for adventure and/or riches, and their stories scream loudly for those willing to listen. Not to mention, many gold rushes have had long-lasting effects, such as the founding and growth of towns and major cities in Northern and Western North America.
It's this aspect I want to focus on when giving these tours. Most people don't want to hear how awesome a gold dredge is in mathematical terms, but instead, its contributions to the development of the Yukon and Southeastern Alaska. How it works. Stories hidden in its rusted interior. The financial and bureaucratic struggle to bring it to Skagway from the Yukon.
Of course, I get to dress up like a sourdough from the late 19th century. I have yet to really flesh out an idea for a character, but I think I'm gonna shoot for a young prospector who has recently arrived and is just getting his hands dirty in the fields. Maybe throw in a bit of naivety and youthful spunk to really get the crowd energized. I'm thinking no beard or facial hair. I will stay away from fire.
My personal Tale of '98 began where the journey ended. In Whitehorse, I met some fellow travelers, some of whom planned on heading to Skagway the same day I was. In our two-car caravan, we cruised the Klondike Highway southbound to the Alaskan border. This presented both some of the best scenery of the trip and some of the most treacherous driving conditions. Have the sun shine on the road and reflect its blinding rays off of the snow-engulfed mountains, combining it with cloud cover shrouding the peaks in blowing snow. The winds raced down the slopes, picking up freshly fallen powder and dragging it into across the two-lane historical highway into our vehicles. We had a mere taste of what the prospectors dealt with over a century ago.
But after my new friends filled out some paperwork for the U.S. customs, we were on our way, down the final miles into Skagway. We parked at one of the docks, where I proceeded to head back to the dredge to meet my new co-workers for the first time (I will introduce them in my next blog post). Back to the docks, a bitterly cold and windy stroll through serene desolation. Only a few stores were open, even fewer people on the streets. We must have been one of the first bands of tourists to arrive for the season.
They returned to Whitehorse, I have settled into my little cabin on site, and tomorrow, we begin rocking it out by helping get things in order for the season. Next week, actual training begins, and until then, self-study.
Let my Tales of '98 begin!!!!
Many prospectors were average joes like you and I, looking for adventure and/or riches, and their stories scream loudly for those willing to listen. Not to mention, many gold rushes have had long-lasting effects, such as the founding and growth of towns and major cities in Northern and Western North America.
It's this aspect I want to focus on when giving these tours. Most people don't want to hear how awesome a gold dredge is in mathematical terms, but instead, its contributions to the development of the Yukon and Southeastern Alaska. How it works. Stories hidden in its rusted interior. The financial and bureaucratic struggle to bring it to Skagway from the Yukon.
Of course, I get to dress up like a sourdough from the late 19th century. I have yet to really flesh out an idea for a character, but I think I'm gonna shoot for a young prospector who has recently arrived and is just getting his hands dirty in the fields. Maybe throw in a bit of naivety and youthful spunk to really get the crowd energized. I'm thinking no beard or facial hair. I will stay away from fire.
My personal Tale of '98 began where the journey ended. In Whitehorse, I met some fellow travelers, some of whom planned on heading to Skagway the same day I was. In our two-car caravan, we cruised the Klondike Highway southbound to the Alaskan border. This presented both some of the best scenery of the trip and some of the most treacherous driving conditions. Have the sun shine on the road and reflect its blinding rays off of the snow-engulfed mountains, combining it with cloud cover shrouding the peaks in blowing snow. The winds raced down the slopes, picking up freshly fallen powder and dragging it into across the two-lane historical highway into our vehicles. We had a mere taste of what the prospectors dealt with over a century ago.
But after my new friends filled out some paperwork for the U.S. customs, we were on our way, down the final miles into Skagway. We parked at one of the docks, where I proceeded to head back to the dredge to meet my new co-workers for the first time (I will introduce them in my next blog post). Back to the docks, a bitterly cold and windy stroll through serene desolation. Only a few stores were open, even fewer people on the streets. We must have been one of the first bands of tourists to arrive for the season.
They returned to Whitehorse, I have settled into my little cabin on site, and tomorrow, we begin rocking it out by helping get things in order for the season. Next week, actual training begins, and until then, self-study.
Let my Tales of '98 begin!!!!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Let the Games Begin
Skagway is here, and the journey up may have come to an end, but the games are just beginning.
I'm about to move into my quarters for the next six months on site of our dredge. It's a tiny little personal cabin with public quarters and facilities just outside.
I've met many of my superiors, including the owner, and there's no doubt I'm gonna have a blast these next six months.
As of now, not much as happened. I've been helping my co-workers move into their summer offices, strolled around town and on nearby trails and have tasted.
Unfortunately, I don't have much time, so I'll save the rest for another blog. Internet isn't included in the price of room and board like I originally thought, so it maybe a few days before I'm back on. That will bode well I think, though. Until next time!
I'm about to move into my quarters for the next six months on site of our dredge. It's a tiny little personal cabin with public quarters and facilities just outside.
I've met many of my superiors, including the owner, and there's no doubt I'm gonna have a blast these next six months.
As of now, not much as happened. I've been helping my co-workers move into their summer offices, strolled around town and on nearby trails and have tasted.
Unfortunately, I don't have much time, so I'll save the rest for another blog. Internet isn't included in the price of room and board like I originally thought, so it maybe a few days before I'm back on. That will bode well I think, though. Until next time!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Land of the Midnight Sun
Although my visit to the Yukon will be short, I'll attempt to make the best of my time here. After all, this is the focal point of the era of history I will be presenting as a Tour Guide in Skagway. It is here where the Klondike Gold Rush erupted with promises of fame and fortune, and like the others before it, disappointed the vast majority who tried their luck. And yet some decided that journeying to the mines was indeed to arduous and profited from helping their fellow prospectors with a variety of services. And through it all, the Yukon was separated into its own territory from the Northwest Territories; its economy began to develop and flourish.
I just now made an attempt to see if the aurora borealis was dancing in the midnight sky, but to no avail. I do hope to see it at least once while during my stay in this part of the world.
UPDATE: Right after posting this, myself and some fellow travelers noticed the northern lights begin to appear and went out to a nearby viewpoint to get a better look and snap photos. It was pretty awesome, and I look forward to seeing more.
I also must say to get a room yesterday in Ft. Nelson for half price and not even need my credit card as collateral was an accomplishment. It was a Super 8, albeit a four-story one, but still, I decided to assume it would be like its American counterparts: simple, cheap and to-the-point. This one was in another league, yet, by simply mentioning my upcoming gig in Alaska when asked and also mentioning I made the assumption this Super 8 was like its American counterparts, the discount rolled in and I had myself a nice sexy room. Oh yeah, and it snowed. It was awesome.
Can Mexican food be good in places outside of Mexico, Texas and the American Southwest? How about in Whitehorse? Check out Sanchez Catina and taste for yourself. As a Texan who loves his Mexican food, I give it a frozen but ecstatic two thumbs up.
The Land of the Midnight Sun....I will be seeing plenty of those here in a few months.
The first part of this journey ends tomorrow when I roll into Skagway, and things will really start cooking. There is no place like home, but it's good to get away for a while.
I just now made an attempt to see if the aurora borealis was dancing in the midnight sky, but to no avail. I do hope to see it at least once while during my stay in this part of the world.
UPDATE: Right after posting this, myself and some fellow travelers noticed the northern lights begin to appear and went out to a nearby viewpoint to get a better look and snap photos. It was pretty awesome, and I look forward to seeing more.
I also must say to get a room yesterday in Ft. Nelson for half price and not even need my credit card as collateral was an accomplishment. It was a Super 8, albeit a four-story one, but still, I decided to assume it would be like its American counterparts: simple, cheap and to-the-point. This one was in another league, yet, by simply mentioning my upcoming gig in Alaska when asked and also mentioning I made the assumption this Super 8 was like its American counterparts, the discount rolled in and I had myself a nice sexy room. Oh yeah, and it snowed. It was awesome.
Can Mexican food be good in places outside of Mexico, Texas and the American Southwest? How about in Whitehorse? Check out Sanchez Catina and taste for yourself. As a Texan who loves his Mexican food, I give it a frozen but ecstatic two thumbs up.
The Land of the Midnight Sun....I will be seeing plenty of those here in a few months.
The first part of this journey ends tomorrow when I roll into Skagway, and things will really start cooking. There is no place like home, but it's good to get away for a while.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Oh Canada!
While my journey into Canada began on a somber note, it's quickly shifted to a much more positive one. I did purchase a new camera, a conglomeration of the two lost, featuring the convenience of size of my Nikon with the features of my Powershot (see the Vancouver and later pics on my facebook). Even better, my full day in Vancouver wound up featuring beautiful, albeit ball-shrinking cold, weather. So instead of museum hopping, I went with my original plan and cruised Stanley Park and its seawall, followed by a stroll through Gaston and Chinatown, ending with a visit to Sun Yat-sen Classic Chinese Garden. Obviously, there's so much more to see, which is why I may very well return on my way back from Alaska.
Situating myself in downtown Vancouver, I stayed at the Samesun Hostel on Granville St. A nice backpacker retreat near all of the backpacker goodies, Samesun features interesting decor and atmosphere in the form of small, wood floor rooms with doors painted various national flags. Also, various wall hangings of ideas on getting off the tourist trail, cheap sights to see and food to eat, and of course, the best restaurants in town.
I recommend Twin Parrots, a bar and grill which has a dynamite Jamaican burger, and dougiedog, a small hole-in-the-wall hot dog joint featuring the best hot dogs I've had to date outside of Chicago. I tried their Super Mario dog (bursting with cheesy power which I did quite literally later on), featuring a jalapeno and cheese dog with ketchup, mushrooms and an extra smashing of cheese.
Oh yes, and Samesun's own restaurant, The Beaver, wasn't too bad itself. You can kick back, use their wi-fi while cussing out facebook for not uploading your photos, chat with other guests or simply watch ESPN or a Canuks game. While it's respectable to cheer for the Canuks, it's pretty funny to cheer for the opposition.
I also had a bum growl at me outside a 7-11 because I ignored him.
And the grand prize: The astonishing scenic views driving north out of Vancouver through Whistler. Large, ferocious mountains with trees precariously hanging to its sides and glacial lakes reflecting the scene for all to see. Through this, a small provincial highway wound its way through passes and mountain-sides with areas of missing guardrails, slush, snow pack and even one-lane bridges. It alone was a drive of a lifetime, and the weather couldn't have been more perfect.
I still have several more days in Canada before crossing back into Alaska.
See ya'll on the Alaskan Highway!
Situating myself in downtown Vancouver, I stayed at the Samesun Hostel on Granville St. A nice backpacker retreat near all of the backpacker goodies, Samesun features interesting decor and atmosphere in the form of small, wood floor rooms with doors painted various national flags. Also, various wall hangings of ideas on getting off the tourist trail, cheap sights to see and food to eat, and of course, the best restaurants in town.
I recommend Twin Parrots, a bar and grill which has a dynamite Jamaican burger, and dougiedog, a small hole-in-the-wall hot dog joint featuring the best hot dogs I've had to date outside of Chicago. I tried their Super Mario dog (bursting with cheesy power which I did quite literally later on), featuring a jalapeno and cheese dog with ketchup, mushrooms and an extra smashing of cheese.
Oh yes, and Samesun's own restaurant, The Beaver, wasn't too bad itself. You can kick back, use their wi-fi while cussing out facebook for not uploading your photos, chat with other guests or simply watch ESPN or a Canuks game. While it's respectable to cheer for the Canuks, it's pretty funny to cheer for the opposition.
I also had a bum growl at me outside a 7-11 because I ignored him.
And the grand prize: The astonishing scenic views driving north out of Vancouver through Whistler. Large, ferocious mountains with trees precariously hanging to its sides and glacial lakes reflecting the scene for all to see. Through this, a small provincial highway wound its way through passes and mountain-sides with areas of missing guardrails, slush, snow pack and even one-lane bridges. It alone was a drive of a lifetime, and the weather couldn't have been more perfect.
I still have several more days in Canada before crossing back into Alaska.
See ya'll on the Alaskan Highway!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Left Your Heart in San Francisco? I Left My Cameras in Seattle.
More like left them on the roof of my car and drove off, throwing them off of my car and nevermore to be in my possession. Oh lapse of paying attention, how I hate thee so so dearly.
I've been welcomed to Vancouver with rain, wind and 40-degree temperatures, the one combination of weather I sorely hate. My hostel room has no working heat, but I'm sure my waters are nice and frosty. Tomorrow, the forecast is a 75% chance of fail with the possibility of me buying a new, small camera (another bigger one will come later, of course).
But these are the realities, the third dimension, of traveling and life, and despite the little fails, it's still a deep passion of mine. And I can tell Vancouver is, shall was say, a very happening place. It's too bad I may not be able to see it at its very best, but seeing it at only 50% is still a treat. I just wish I had an umbrella to be my companion.
And the Twin Parrots in Vancouver has my recommendation. Damn good Jamaican burger with fries and delicious bacon-wrapped scallops due to tummy good.
I've been welcomed to Vancouver with rain, wind and 40-degree temperatures, the one combination of weather I sorely hate. My hostel room has no working heat, but I'm sure my waters are nice and frosty. Tomorrow, the forecast is a 75% chance of fail with the possibility of me buying a new, small camera (another bigger one will come later, of course).
But these are the realities, the third dimension, of traveling and life, and despite the little fails, it's still a deep passion of mine. And I can tell Vancouver is, shall was say, a very happening place. It's too bad I may not be able to see it at its very best, but seeing it at only 50% is still a treat. I just wish I had an umbrella to be my companion.
And the Twin Parrots in Vancouver has my recommendation. Damn good Jamaican burger with fries and delicious bacon-wrapped scallops due to tummy good.
Sand, Snow and Skyscrapers
With the U.S. leg of the journey winding down, I am simply amazed at the sheer beauty, both natural and man-made, that I've seen thus far. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever though states like Arizona and Utah were as beautiful as they are. Powerful, towering mountains over desert landscapes and high prairies, protecting them. The I-84 corkscrew descending from Oregon's Blue Mountains onto the high prairies below. The elegant and encompassing beauty both natural and man-made that makes up Seattle.
And with quaint and relaxing towns like Yakima and bustling beauty of major cities like Seattle to throw into the pot, there begs the assumption that I've entered the paradise element to our great nation. The biting chill of the wind, the snow driving down over Snoqualmie Pass, the dust devils of the Arizona desert, the brilliant gold streaks of the Southwest mountains, the towering skyscrapers of Seattle...for me, it is an augmentation of home.
And as my halibut fish and chips settle down for the evening inside my stomach and my mind marinates on the views of above from the Space Needle and down from below along the Seattle waterfront, I prepare for tomorrow's border crossing. Vancouver will be waiting, and I hope it welcomes me for the next two days.
New pictures on facebook if you haven't already seen them.
And with quaint and relaxing towns like Yakima and bustling beauty of major cities like Seattle to throw into the pot, there begs the assumption that I've entered the paradise element to our great nation. The biting chill of the wind, the snow driving down over Snoqualmie Pass, the dust devils of the Arizona desert, the brilliant gold streaks of the Southwest mountains, the towering skyscrapers of Seattle...for me, it is an augmentation of home.
And as my halibut fish and chips settle down for the evening inside my stomach and my mind marinates on the views of above from the Space Needle and down from below along the Seattle waterfront, I prepare for tomorrow's border crossing. Vancouver will be waiting, and I hope it welcomes me for the next two days.
New pictures on facebook if you haven't already seen them.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
It Span Me Right Around, Baby Right Around
Despite nearly hitting a dumbass dear and subsequently attempting to dodge it at 70 mph causing me to run off the highway and violently make two complete 360 degree turns, winding up facing the wrong way, the first day went very well. No damage to my car, my stuff or me.
It's always a treat when a destination surprises you with beauty you assumed it didn't had. Who would've thought the desert would have such sights to behold? Obviously, there were those lagging moments that drug along for the ride, but this isn't your West Texas drive.
Southwestern New Mexico, in all of its desolate nature, harbors the most surprising of these treats. Heading west out of Lordsburg and over a ridge I see the interstate flowing into the distance, with rugged mountains painted with gold and yellow flowers with such balanced beauty. A train rolls along side the interstate, transcending a stereotypical desert landscape out of the wild west into a romanticized story of desert edginess with spring fragrance. It was a scene so perfect...yet due to the dangers of pulling off to the side of a major interstate, I wasn't able to photograph any of this.
And Arizona itself has harbored a few surprises of its own, with its contrasting landscapes of barren, burnt mountains, so jagged and rough because it's the only way to survive the climate. The Texas Canyon area, between Willcox and Benson, happened to have a rest stop featuring breathtaking scenery. Too bad the haze hid the distant mountains, but nevertheless was worth the twenty or so minutes I spent taking photos and simply soaking it in one pore at a time.
I could have made it Phoenix, but who can pass up a $50/night deal, especially when there's no guarantee Phoenix would have anything remotely that cheap? Sure, I missed an opportunity to go to Alice Cooperstown, but hey, it's reason alone to return. And Tucson isn't a bad place to stop. It has a small town charm with a mid-sized city attitude. It features a business complex made of bright colored adobe, as if Santa Fe decided to drop acid. It features a presidio now used for government complexes, but was once the sight of a Mormon stopover along their march into what used to be Mexican territory during the Mexican-American War, with a nice memorial statue to commemorate their contributions to the war as well as a homage to all Tucsonians (if that's what the locals refer to themselves as).
And who can forget the food? If you're ever stopping over in Tucson on a Saturday night, hit up Cushing Street Bar and Restaurant. Although pricey, it has wonderful food and live jazz music every Saturday night. Their Cajun meatloaf with Ancho Maple glaze was fantastic, as was their hummus.
I just posted a few pics on facebook and more should trickle in as the journey continues. Until next time!
It's always a treat when a destination surprises you with beauty you assumed it didn't had. Who would've thought the desert would have such sights to behold? Obviously, there were those lagging moments that drug along for the ride, but this isn't your West Texas drive.
Southwestern New Mexico, in all of its desolate nature, harbors the most surprising of these treats. Heading west out of Lordsburg and over a ridge I see the interstate flowing into the distance, with rugged mountains painted with gold and yellow flowers with such balanced beauty. A train rolls along side the interstate, transcending a stereotypical desert landscape out of the wild west into a romanticized story of desert edginess with spring fragrance. It was a scene so perfect...yet due to the dangers of pulling off to the side of a major interstate, I wasn't able to photograph any of this.
And Arizona itself has harbored a few surprises of its own, with its contrasting landscapes of barren, burnt mountains, so jagged and rough because it's the only way to survive the climate. The Texas Canyon area, between Willcox and Benson, happened to have a rest stop featuring breathtaking scenery. Too bad the haze hid the distant mountains, but nevertheless was worth the twenty or so minutes I spent taking photos and simply soaking it in one pore at a time.
I could have made it Phoenix, but who can pass up a $50/night deal, especially when there's no guarantee Phoenix would have anything remotely that cheap? Sure, I missed an opportunity to go to Alice Cooperstown, but hey, it's reason alone to return. And Tucson isn't a bad place to stop. It has a small town charm with a mid-sized city attitude. It features a business complex made of bright colored adobe, as if Santa Fe decided to drop acid. It features a presidio now used for government complexes, but was once the sight of a Mormon stopover along their march into what used to be Mexican territory during the Mexican-American War, with a nice memorial statue to commemorate their contributions to the war as well as a homage to all Tucsonians (if that's what the locals refer to themselves as).
And who can forget the food? If you're ever stopping over in Tucson on a Saturday night, hit up Cushing Street Bar and Restaurant. Although pricey, it has wonderful food and live jazz music every Saturday night. Their Cajun meatloaf with Ancho Maple glaze was fantastic, as was their hummus.
I just posted a few pics on facebook and more should trickle in as the journey continues. Until next time!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Bags Are Packed, I'm Ready to Go
In 7 hours I will be on the interstate beginning an epic journey to Skagway. Crossing the desert with searing serenity, the Rockies with the potential of snow and adventure and into the Pacific Northwest's dreary yet relaxed environment. Vancouver beckons, British Columbia welcomes and along the rural Alaska Highway, I will enter the Land of the Midnight Sun before my final destination.
Throughout this next chapter in my life, I will update more frequently, and will strive to add in more excitement and creativity. I also hope to expand my horizons, enjoy every moment of my new job and to strive to become a become the person I know I can be.
Oh yes, and there will be food. Lots of delicious food, aiming to dine at as many local joints as possible to taste a piece of each destination. And with Skagway, a small town with a big story, there's plenty of northern lights to illuminate a mysterious frontier which seduces many travelers to become infatuated with its charm, a piece of America the Beautiful unlike anything else within its borders.
I'm fortunate enough to have been given this opportunity, and I hope to use it as a spring board for an exciting career in tour management.
See ya'll on the road!
Throughout this next chapter in my life, I will update more frequently, and will strive to add in more excitement and creativity. I also hope to expand my horizons, enjoy every moment of my new job and to strive to become a become the person I know I can be.
Oh yes, and there will be food. Lots of delicious food, aiming to dine at as many local joints as possible to taste a piece of each destination. And with Skagway, a small town with a big story, there's plenty of northern lights to illuminate a mysterious frontier which seduces many travelers to become infatuated with its charm, a piece of America the Beautiful unlike anything else within its borders.
I'm fortunate enough to have been given this opportunity, and I hope to use it as a spring board for an exciting career in tour management.
See ya'll on the road!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
A Simple Kind of Man
In addition to the preparations for Alaska, a lot has been on my mind. They all deal with the future, and the personal value of societal norms, specifically ones dealing with "The American Dream". I've questioned the ideas of home ownership, marriage and parenthood extensively through the spectrum of my upcoming career and through the lens of myself.
Although my parents have been very supportive of my upcoming endeavors, they also seem convinced I'm going to settle down one day and enter the mainstream notion of the American Dream. They assume my leading tours is not a lifelong career but rather another piece to the bigger picture. The simplest answer I can give is none of us really know.
My dad argues I should own a home to show that "I've made it." Show who? I don't need to prove to anybody that I've made it, because my finances are no one's business but my own. Why flaunt them? Satisfaction is a relevant term. I don't expect to ever pull in an annual six-figure, or more, income, and I'm perfectly fine with that. For my goals and lifestyle, buying a home is a tremendous waste of money.
My mom, at times, likes to shift the topic to my getting married one day. I've never been any good with women, and I don't see that changing anytime soon because quite frankly, the desire to work on that skill is on the back burner. In my fatter days, I used to lament about loneliness, lack of confidence that plagued me for as long as I could remember and never having a girlfriend and all of that jazz. Then I found direction in my life, lost a lot of weight, and embraced the gift of independence and realized my neediness for a companion was merely a reflection of stagnation. Like satisfaction, loneliness is a relevant term. Along with the high divorce rates, seeing how miserable some of my friends really are, or have been, in relationships, and my desire for independence, the possibility of marriage dwindles to a drop on the freeway.
What about the right of passage into adulthood known as parenthood? I don't like kids that much, and having my own won't change that. I don't relate to them. They're extremely expensive to care for and require a massive amount of patience I don't harbor. Being the only child in the family with no brothers, sisters, or cousins, this is a major conflicting point, because I am the sole responsibility of continuing the family line. However, bringing a child into the world simply to continue the family line is no reason to do so.
Bottom line, if I'm not willing to give it my all in these three, classic American Dream scenarios, I won't pursue them. My American Dream doesn't involve settling down in a 9-5 job with a house in the suburbs, a happy-go-lucky wife and kids to play catch with, because that's a romanticized scenario of what it's really like. Traveling, furthering my education, pursuing my current interests, experiencing new people, ideas and activities, getting to know myself, living a simple life and being a simple kind of man, that's my American Dream.
Obviously, I'm only a young 25 and anything is indeed possible. However, whether we desire that house in the suburbs and family, or to experience life independently, we have to be true to ourselves. In some respect, that can be one of the most difficult challenges life throws at us. In the end, if we succeed, the rewards are endless.
Although my parents have been very supportive of my upcoming endeavors, they also seem convinced I'm going to settle down one day and enter the mainstream notion of the American Dream. They assume my leading tours is not a lifelong career but rather another piece to the bigger picture. The simplest answer I can give is none of us really know.
My dad argues I should own a home to show that "I've made it." Show who? I don't need to prove to anybody that I've made it, because my finances are no one's business but my own. Why flaunt them? Satisfaction is a relevant term. I don't expect to ever pull in an annual six-figure, or more, income, and I'm perfectly fine with that. For my goals and lifestyle, buying a home is a tremendous waste of money.
My mom, at times, likes to shift the topic to my getting married one day. I've never been any good with women, and I don't see that changing anytime soon because quite frankly, the desire to work on that skill is on the back burner. In my fatter days, I used to lament about loneliness, lack of confidence that plagued me for as long as I could remember and never having a girlfriend and all of that jazz. Then I found direction in my life, lost a lot of weight, and embraced the gift of independence and realized my neediness for a companion was merely a reflection of stagnation. Like satisfaction, loneliness is a relevant term. Along with the high divorce rates, seeing how miserable some of my friends really are, or have been, in relationships, and my desire for independence, the possibility of marriage dwindles to a drop on the freeway.
What about the right of passage into adulthood known as parenthood? I don't like kids that much, and having my own won't change that. I don't relate to them. They're extremely expensive to care for and require a massive amount of patience I don't harbor. Being the only child in the family with no brothers, sisters, or cousins, this is a major conflicting point, because I am the sole responsibility of continuing the family line. However, bringing a child into the world simply to continue the family line is no reason to do so.
Bottom line, if I'm not willing to give it my all in these three, classic American Dream scenarios, I won't pursue them. My American Dream doesn't involve settling down in a 9-5 job with a house in the suburbs, a happy-go-lucky wife and kids to play catch with, because that's a romanticized scenario of what it's really like. Traveling, furthering my education, pursuing my current interests, experiencing new people, ideas and activities, getting to know myself, living a simple life and being a simple kind of man, that's my American Dream.
Obviously, I'm only a young 25 and anything is indeed possible. However, whether we desire that house in the suburbs and family, or to experience life independently, we have to be true to ourselves. In some respect, that can be one of the most difficult challenges life throws at us. In the end, if we succeed, the rewards are endless.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
T-Minus 3 Weeks
T-minus 3 weeks until I depart for the realm where the black bear roams and the aurora borealis reigns in the night sky. I'm currently awaiting conformation of my signed contract arriving and for information on my housing. Of course, there's plenty to do on my end, including continuing to research the proper information, prepping my car, purchasing some new clothes and boots, finalizing my planned route, among other things (I bought a camera tripod in anticipation of photographing the northern lights). Vancouver is looking to be my one major stop along the way.
3 weeks seems like a long time right now, but ultimately I know it'll be here sooner than later.
3 weeks seems like a long time right now, but ultimately I know it'll be here sooner than later.
Friday, March 5, 2010
It Begins
A thousand miles turned out to be a hundred, and not a moment too soon. I will be working in Skagway, AK for five months starting in late April as a Tour Guide. I'll be making the journey by car, so this year will feature not one, but TWO, epic road trips. My last day is September 30, but I will be taking my time driving home. The traveling and work experience gained will be incredible.
I'll let everyone know my exact date of departure in a future post, as well as maybe a driving schedule. Like with my trip to Southeast Asia, I'll update this with my travel and work stories.
Nearly eleven months after IGA, my career has a starting point, and I couldn't be happier. It begins in April.
I'll let everyone know my exact date of departure in a future post, as well as maybe a driving schedule. Like with my trip to Southeast Asia, I'll update this with my travel and work stories.
Nearly eleven months after IGA, my career has a starting point, and I couldn't be happier. It begins in April.
Friday, February 19, 2010
There's Light at the End of This Tunnel....It's Just Another Thousand Miles Away.
The two pieces of recent good news from this ten-month journey to tour management is I landed two interviews, one of them resulting in being offered a second one in person in Wisconsin, but it's not until the latter part of April. The other led to a dead-end, with another candidate being offered the position. That's fine. I understand that happens.
But it doesn't deadened the fact this has been an overall frustrating journey thus far.
Many tour operators don't require a college degree. I have a bachelors. Many don't require any specific certification for being a Tour Manager/Director. I was certified by the one of the most respected guide academies under one of the best instructors in the business, augmented by the fact I graduated first. I've proven I can do the job.
So why has little changed in the first ten months?
One could point out the economy is the main culprit, but it's never that simple. To say it's only the economy pushes away any personal responsibility, and I know I've made some missteps.
My resumes and cover letters weren't good to begin with, yet those have drastically improved (enough to have a couple of tour operators show interest at least). However, maybe they're still not good enough for widespread attention. Maybe I just haven't captured interest. Maybe my work and travel experience are both lacking for many tour operators despite the fact I've been trained to do the job and that destination knowledge can be obtained rather quickly (if a company lists their expected qualifications and they exceed my current ones, I don't apply). Maybe my timing is off. Maybe I don't sound confident enough on the phone. Maybe my impatience and restlessness has been getting the best of me. Maybe I just haven't pushed hard enough. Maybe I've played it too safe when choosing which tour operators to apply to. Maybe I've been too careless.
Maybe it's a little bit of everything. It's a Rubik's Cube of questions that I need to clarify within, and hopefully I can figure it out soon. Hopefully, I won't lament on the answers I find, and instead learn from them. That's easier said than done though.
There is a small light at the end of the tunnel, and that second interview I landed is most likely the key. Both literally and figuratively, it's just another thousand miles away.
But it doesn't deadened the fact this has been an overall frustrating journey thus far.
Many tour operators don't require a college degree. I have a bachelors. Many don't require any specific certification for being a Tour Manager/Director. I was certified by the one of the most respected guide academies under one of the best instructors in the business, augmented by the fact I graduated first. I've proven I can do the job.
So why has little changed in the first ten months?
One could point out the economy is the main culprit, but it's never that simple. To say it's only the economy pushes away any personal responsibility, and I know I've made some missteps.
My resumes and cover letters weren't good to begin with, yet those have drastically improved (enough to have a couple of tour operators show interest at least). However, maybe they're still not good enough for widespread attention. Maybe I just haven't captured interest. Maybe my work and travel experience are both lacking for many tour operators despite the fact I've been trained to do the job and that destination knowledge can be obtained rather quickly (if a company lists their expected qualifications and they exceed my current ones, I don't apply). Maybe my timing is off. Maybe I don't sound confident enough on the phone. Maybe my impatience and restlessness has been getting the best of me. Maybe I just haven't pushed hard enough. Maybe I've played it too safe when choosing which tour operators to apply to. Maybe I've been too careless.
Maybe it's a little bit of everything. It's a Rubik's Cube of questions that I need to clarify within, and hopefully I can figure it out soon. Hopefully, I won't lament on the answers I find, and instead learn from them. That's easier said than done though.
There is a small light at the end of the tunnel, and that second interview I landed is most likely the key. Both literally and figuratively, it's just another thousand miles away.
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